Avatar:Rebirth Chronicles
by A.R. Fredrick II
Summary: In this chapter Jake discovers that a new battle is brewing, as Neytiri relives a horror from her past. What dangers are in store for our heroes? What about Norm? Mature themes and realistic character portrayal. Revision notes in prologue! Need Beta!
1. Prologue: More Than Human

**ALERT! IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR THE NEWEST CHAPTER, GO TO 'A Warrior's Tale' - 11/29/10**

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**STOP! READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING!**

**THE NEWEST CHAPTER BEING POSTED IS 'THE DEVILISH DESIGNS OF MAN'. THOSE NEW TO THIS STORY MAY NOTICE THAT, READING THE CHAPTERS FOLLOWING THE NEWEST ONE POSTED, THERE IS A BIG GAP IN EVENTS. THE REASON FOR THIS, IS THAT I HAVE MADE ADDITIONS TO THE STORYLINE, WHICH DO NOT YET FLOW SEAMLESSLY INTO LATER CHAPTERS. PLEASE REST ASSURED THAT THE TIMELINE OF THE STORY WILL BE CORRECTED AFTER TWO OR THREE UPDATES. UNTIL THEN, PLEASE ENJOY MY WORK AS BEST YOU CAN.**

**WHY THE UPDATES?**

**There were so many unanswered questions to resolve. What happened with the Humans at Hell's Gate, how was it decided who stayed and who went? Even though each and every Na'vi supporter did not help the Na'vi in the battle, did it mean all of them were beyond redemption? What caused Jake to transfer himself permanently into his Na'vi body? I won't bore you with the other questions I pondered, needless to say it caused me to make a few rewrites to the existing story. **

**So far, all of the chapters from "Through the Stars" to "On the Brink" are the same, I may make edits to them later, but they won't change the overall storyline. What I am going to do however, is add a handful of chapters that come before "Through the Stars", to answer some of those questions. **

**Several people wrote in their reviews expressing their desire that I did not rush the story and I think that as a result of these additions, the overall narrative will be more rewarding and in-depth. Also, I think the additions will answer some questions that many of my fellow Avatar Fanfic writers have avoided because of the sheer headaches they cause. But, as I am a perfectionist, I decided to undertake the challenge.**

**I want to take a minute to thank each and every one of you who has read and reviewed my story, I invite you to continue, as I read each and every one of them. If you like my writing, take a minute to visit my profile and check out my other stories. All of them are actively being worked on. **

**Below is a new beginning to this story, at the end of this chapter, all of the other chapters I wrote will follow, they are all still in chronological order and can be followed as such. I did remove the chapter numbering for now, as I will be adding a few more chapters between this one "More than Human" and "Through the Stars".**

**I'll stop talking now. Enjoy!**

**A.R. Fredrick - 10/28/10  
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**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

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**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** R

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**Prologue: More than Human**

I hear screaming in the distance. Screaming that doesn't end, someone is beckoning to me, calling me to them and I wonder, why? I feel light and at ease. As if nothing can touch me, or hurt me anymore. Right now I can't really see anything, but the darkness doesn't bother me, because it is as warm as the embrace of a loving woman.

The darkness is getting brighter and the screaming is getting louder. _Gosh_, it is really giving me a headache, why don't they just hold the ruckus down a bit? Man, can't a guy catch some rack time without it becoming a capital offense?

Suddenly, I can't breathe. My lungs are burning for oxygen, it feels as if there are shards of glass rattling around it my respiratory system. I'm suffocating and I don't even know where the hell I am, it is still too dark, and I can't see a damn thing here.

"Jake!" A voice is calling me through the darkness, I want to reply, to let it know that I'm here, though I don't know exactly where here is. But, I can't breathe. I struggle to take a deep lungful of air, but it is burning my throat, and though I can fill gases enter my lungs, they do not quench my need for oxygen.

"My Jake!"

There is noise now. Someone crashing and banging around. I hear someone crying. Why are they crying...? There is no need to cry... My lungs aren't burning as much now, and I'm starting to feel light again. It'll be okay soon I guess.

I feel myself moving, floating up through the darkness, but it is not by my own accord. Someone is lifting me up. I feel warm droplets hitting my face. Are those tears? Is someone still crying? They aren't my tears... I can't cry... I can't even breathe.

Something is covering my face now, I can smell the astringent and plastic scent of recycled air. I let my lungs take a tentative sip of it at first, because it is possible that it is a ploy, some sort of trick that someone is playing. Maybe there is really no air, maybe they're just playing games with me.

But, although the air is recycled, it is refreshing and it caresses the alveoli in my lungs with a sweet tenderness that I had never known before. My head is starting to clear a little bit now, and I'm starting to remember what the hell happened. _Crap,_ I feel like I was hit with a ton of bricks, I haven't felt this shitty since basic training back in boot camp.

The darkness is receding now and I can finally see. Neytiri is above me, and I realize that she is cradling me in her arms, like an ethereal guardian angel. There are streaks through her white war paint and I realize that she has been crying. I want to ask her why, but I still cannot find enough air to form a few simple syllables.

The re-breather is on my face, that is where the oxygen was coming from, but it needs to be fully activated in order for me to communicate. Knowing this, I reach up and grasp the mask with both hands, positioning it and simultaneously activating the vacuum seal that will protect me from the harsh atmosphere of Pandora, and allow me to breathe as freely as possible with the aid of the device.

Fully activated, oxygen whooshed into the facial cavity provided by the mask, and I gulped greedily at the precious gas, knowing that without it I would surely be dead by now. But more than that, I know that Neytiri was my true savior...

I remember struggling with Colonel Quaritch, we were both fighting for survival and for what we believed in, but the man knew that with his airships destroyed and his ground support fleeing, that the fight was over. At this point, things had become one giant showdown, to determine who was superior. Human and machine, or the genetic skills of the RDA and the body of my Avatar. I thought I had struck him a devastating blow when I leapt from a tree and drove the standard issue bayonet of his AMP Suit through the plexiglass shell of its cockpit.

But, true to his reputation, the man had balls of steel and he was determined not to surrender. As I jumped away to the forest floor and turned expecting him to topple, I was surprised to see him turning to face me. He had pulled the bayonet free of the plexiglass, and was using the momentum the AMP Suit delivered, to hurl the giant steel cleaver at me. I barely had time to duck and avoid having my head lobbed off by the blade, I turned to follow the path of the weapon in time to see it slam into the metal shell of the research bunker. It had partially struck one of the few windows, as if it were a giant bullseye, as I saw the plexiglass spiderweb, I felt a bit of anxiety bubble up in my chest. If the interior of the bunker were exposed to the atmosphere, I was toast.

Turning back to Quaritch, I was able to spare a bare few seconds to glance at Neytiri as she struggled to free herself from the crushing bulk of the Thanator, but those few seconds almost cost me as I turned back to face the gunmetal gray AMP Suit. The mechanical marionette rushed forward swinging a wild right hook at my chest, which I was able to scramble under the arc of and cleanly avoid. However, I knew Quaritch wasn't done, as I heard him grunt in frustration and follow up with a lazy left swing as he turned to face me. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say he didn't fancy me scoping out his backside.

"Come on!" Quaritch bellowed it rage, trying to egg me on even further. Hell, I hardly needed any invitation to pound on the worthless swine. As I stood crouched and ready to jump at him, the shattered plexiglass cockpit flew up into the sky with a blast of compressed gas, leave it to the maniacal bastard to imitate a jack-in-the-box and surprise me in the middle of a fight. The transparent carcass flew through the air straight for me, and as I gauged its trajectory, I realized that Quaritch was trying to catch me off guard. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction I feinted to the right as the shell flew past me, and though I appeared to be caught off guard, I tensed my muscles for the next attack.

I watched as the elderly warmonger struggled to put the re-breather integrated into the AMP over his face and activate the oxygen flow. Though I knew he was helpless during this time, I had decided that I would not defeat him using his own underhanded tactics, so as he readied himself to continue our little dance of death, I pulled the hunting knife Neytiri had given me free of its sheath, which rested on a bandolier slung over my chest.

"Hey Sully, how does it feel to betray your own race?" Quaritch asked me with a cocky smirk and hate-filled eyes.

_The indignant genocidal monster had the nerve to question my loyalties and motives? _

This was about more than race, or ideal, or creed, or culture, this was about right and wrong. Good and evil. Maybe for the Colonel Quaritch it was simpler than that. Maybe he believed that the Na'vi were nothing more than brainless savages. Regardless of his beliefs, they had done nothing to deserve the hell and misery he had rained down upon them.

I was so overcome with anger that I could not even form a cognitive sentence or proper rebuttal to his taunt. I felt the rage well inside of me, and overflow like rain waters spilling forth from an aging dam. I did what came naturally to me then, as it did to all Na'vi, and I hissed at the man, who was the source of my anger and the current face of the blight that had befallen this once peaceful world.

"You think you're one of them?" He asked in a mocking tone. "Time to wake up!"

His back was to the research bunker and then, with a sudden fluid motion, he had turned to charge at the metal structure.

Previously trapped in my broken Human body, I had been unable to operate an AMP Suit for quite some time, as my disability had prevented using the device, and as a result of that I was completely unprepared for his sudden movement.

Cursing my own stupidity, I ran after him and dived headfirst at the metal behemoth. I jumped up and onto its back mere seconds after he had broken through the previously damaged glass and began to demolish the building. My muscles were tense, and I struggled to stay latched onto the oversized mechanical bull as I climbed higher up its back.

I was now almost directly above the cockpit, and I could see Quaritch's gray hair, and the puckered scars that ran through his scalp and covered the side of his face, they disappeared beneath the re-breather. I could smell the odor of old soap, sweat and coffee that emanated from the man.

Being this close to him presented both a problem and an opportunity for me. I had a shot at the man from this angle, and with my knife still clenched in my fist I had the means to take it, but Quaritch had moved away from his impromptu demolition site, and was trying to grab hold of me with his mechanized appendages.

Behind us, the environmental alarms were blaring, their claxons giving me a grim reminder that he had breached the hull of the research structure, and condemned my Human body to a slow and painful death, I had no choice but to end this quickly. I was running out of time. I roared at Quaritch and took aim at his head, bringing my knife down in a swift motion, I hoped and prayed that it would plunge into his skull as if it were nothing more than warm butter. But, I was denied even that, as he craned his neck to the side just in time to avoid the blow. My knife, and my last line of defense got lodged in the headrest of the AMP Suit. It had also given the deranged Colonel the chance he had been hoping for.

He grabbed hold of me, opting to play dirty, he seized my hair and yanked hard. Once again, I was unprepared for his swift movements and not able to stand the pain as he yanked me off of his back and propelled me through the air as if I were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. I hit the ground hard and slid back several feet, air escaped my lungs upon impact and I felt something sharp pierce my side.

My scalp and my shoulder throbbed together in a symphony of agony, I found myself wishing that they would not repeat the chorus, but I knew I would not be so lucky. As I struggled to get back to my feet, I started choking, as if the Pandoran air that my Avatar lungs had been breathing the entire time was now poison to me. I knew this was feedback from my Human body, which was now starting to suffocate inside the POD which protected it.

I became dizzy and struggled to keep my focus as Quaritch lumbered toward me, but the world was becoming fuzzy and unfocused. Reality swam in a haze of color and my peripheral vision grew dark and started to fade. I tried to stay upright, but I lost my balance, and fell to the ground. My perception was thrown for a loop as soon as I hit the forest floor, as suddenly I was conscious and within my Human body once more. I smelled the acidic atmosphere around me, and the stench of my own sweat, as my eyes opened and I saw the interior of the POD. I was dying, but I had to keep fighting. If I failed, Quaritch would still be free to wreak havoc. Worse than that, Neytiri would have to face him alone, and I feared for her safety above all else. The pain was great and my lungs screamed at me for merciful air, but I ignored them, and closed my eyes, willing the uplink to my Avatar body to reconnect me with its fallen form.

A myriad of colors collided with my senses and once more my Na'vi eyes snapped open. I glanced up just in time to see Quaritch come in for the kill. His mechanized puppet lurched forward and grabbed me by the hair once more, entangling my braided hair and my queue within his clutches. It was a fiery pain that made me see stars, and I screamed in withering misery. Worse yet, was my mind telling me that I was choking, and should not be capable of such a vocal outcry. Shuddering gasps that came with that realization.

Quaritch hauled me up to face him and try as I might, my hands could not loosen the grip of the AMP Suit, the pain was so intense that I had to grasp onto its fist to anchor myself, while simultaneously trying to pry myself free. The grizzled Colonel turned my body to face him, studying me as if I were some unnatural result of a heinous experiment gone wrong. His left arm was held high, while his right reached behind his head to grasp the hilt of my knife, and wrench it free from the now dismembered headrest. The AMP Suit was mimicking his motions the entire time, as if they were both partners in some morbid ballet.

He gazed at me with a hauntingly cold look and I stared back at him with as fiery of a gaze as I could muster. But, I was almost completely spent, and strangely disoriented as I could feel the pain of my Human lungs and the pain of my Avatar body at the same time. The Human part of my was gasping for air, like a fish out of water, but I tried to ignore it and desperately searched for a way to strike back at the military monster that I had once respected.

My tail flailed behind me in useless agitation and I was preparing to use whatever small leverage I could manage to rear back, in hopes to swing forward and deliver a punishing kick to the man. But, as he traded glances with me, and the wicked blade of my hunting knife, I knew that the sands of time were slipping through my fingers never to be recaptured. He brought the curved instrument to my throat and I readied myself for what would come next...

I heard the whistle of an arrow's fletching as it flew through the air, by the sound of it, the projectile was coming up fast from behind me. I prayed it would fly true and was rewarded by my faith mere seconds later as the arrow embedded itself in the Colonel's chest. Shock and disbelief crossed his face as he lost his grip on me and I fell once more to the forest floor.

My vision swam again and my memories became disjointed after that.

I saw a second arrow shatter the AMP Suit's HUD and hit Quaritch in the chest, probably in the heart...

I saw a feral grin cross his face as he let go of the trappings of his life and fell down dead...

I heard the AMP exoskeleton crash to the ground with a screeching thud...

And then, I was back in my Human body... I remember throwing opening the hood of my POD, struggling to sit up in the gel mattress. I pushed my wheelchair out of the way, letting my torso fall toward the floor of the bunker. I used my left arm to support myself, while my right arm strained to reach the emergency re-breather unit across from me. I could see the mask, my fingertips just inches away from the clear box that housed my respiratory salvation.

I was desperate, it was if my lungs were filled with molten fire, and it was burning me from the inside out. The scorching pain of suffocation caused me to make one more futile lunge for the mask, but it was of no use...

I fell on my back to the bunker floor and lay there dying...

I tried once more to muscle up, got onto my stomach, grasping for any handhold that gave me leverage, and pulled myself up toward the emergency re-breather, I pushed past the clear vinyl flap and grabbed that damnable mask, but despite all of that effort, my world was fading and I could no longer hold on...

Then there was blackness...

But that was all before. Here and now, I am still laying in Neytiri's arms. The sunlight streaming in from outside danced on her indigo skin and seemed to give her face a beautiful shimmering quality that left me breathless once more. Despite all of the conflict, all of the pain, all of the horror, her beauty still had the power to stop me in my tracks and leave me taken aback.

Aware that I was breathing, and staring at her, her tears were forgotten. She smiled at me shyly, seeing my Human form for the first time. For a moment I felt fear and uncertainty, while it was true that she had known I was a Dreamwalker, would seeing my true form cause her to recoil? Would it change her feelings for me? Holding these worrisome questions in my heart, I looked up at her more closely.

In the end, her eyes betrayed her true feelings. As I looked into them and pondered their hue, wondering if their color resembled honey or daffodil petals more, I did not see hate or disgust, but the same innocent and compassionate love I had always known from her.

I reached up with my left hand to caress the cheek of my warrior princess and her skin felt just as soft, and as warm as it always had. Her graceful blue hand enveloped my pale white one, and her tears fell once more, landing on my black t-shirt and tickling my chest.

Now, you've gotta understand that I've never been a poet, or some sort of suave ladies man, so I was a little dumbfounded. What could I say to her now, after everything? But even while questioning myself, I knew the answer.

"I see you," the greeting came out in little more than a scratchy murmur, but it was heartfelt. Her smile brightened, like a newly shining star, and I realized that somehow I did not muck things up.

"I see you," Neytiri replied.


	2. Jericho

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

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**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** R

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**Jericho**

A few moments had passed since I had last spoken to Neytiri, my hand had fallen away from her cheek and came to rest on my chest, the steady rhythm of my heartbeat gave me a warm sense of comfort and satisfaction, letting me know that I was still among the living.

As sunlight filtered through the shattered window pane, I looked at Neytiri, covertly trying to decipher the thoughts which ran rampant in her mind. Her eyes stared down at mine quizzically and full of wonder.

"What's wrong Neytiri?" I asked softly.

For a moment she just continued to stare at me, and I was afraid that she had not heard my question at all. Maybe I hadn't asked it as loudly as I had originally intended and it was lost through the filter of the re-breather. But as she shifted her weight slightly, seemingly to support mine better, she finally spoke.

"Seeing you this way, it is different than I am accustomed to, I am afraid I am going to break you," she replied. "You are so pale and small."

I did not expect her to say such things, and in the end I was a little surprised at her reaction to me. But, I knew this moment would come eventually, with the bunker damaged and saturated with atmosphere, it would be several hours before I could even reconnect with my Avatar...

My Avatar...

It was just then that I realized that I was not fully aware of what happened after I had lost connection with my counterpart, my Na'vi/Human hybrid body.

"How am I?"

She tilted her head slightly to the right and looked at me, her eyes squinted in confusion.

"You're pale, white and smell like a Dreamwalker," she replied.

She smiled down at me, and then giggled softly. Was she trying to make a joke? Lighten the situation? Sometimes it is hard for me to tell, as the differences in Human and Na'vi humor still escape me at times.

"My other body? Everything went dark after you struck Quaritch with that arrow."

"I tried to wake you after the metal man fell, but it was useless, you seemed to be as sleepy as a newborn baby," she told me. "But, my heart ached, I knew there was something wrong. You looked well, but your spirit was unwell, I could feel your pain, and it drew me here."

Neytiri ended her sentence in a thoughtful whisper, as if she were replaying the events of the battle in her mind once more.

"What do we do now Jake?" She asked me with an expectant gleam in her eyes.

The was a damn good question. One that I didn't readily have an answer for. We destroyed the airship. Quaritch was dead, and the RDA forces had been in retreat long before Neytiri's arrow quelled his evil heart, but there were still questions. Where was Spellman? Trudy? Tsu'tey? None of them had answered my hails before, and I didn't know if they were alive or dead. We dealt a punishing blow to the RDA forces, but we still had to take Hell's Gate if we were to be successful in rendering the threat they posed completely impotent.

"There's lots we've gotta do, but would you mind helping me off of this floor first?" I asked her shyly, not accustomed to relying on help from others. It was hard for me to ask her to give me a hand, but we had been through so much together and I knew if I could trust anyone with my weaknesses, it would be her.

"What is wrong Jake, are you hurt?" Neytiri asked with an edge of concern evident in her otherwise sultry voice.

"I don't think so, my lungs are a little sore, but I'll live." I replied. "Can you just pull my wheelchair over here, and help me into it?"

If I wanted to be stubborn, I could've crawled to the damned thing myself, but the floor was littered with shards of glass, and other wicked looking shrapnel. As I was, I knew that I was enough of a liability, bleeding everywhere would not help matters in the long run at all.

"Wheel...? Chair...?" She asked glancing around the bunker.

I pointed to the yellow metal object, allowing her eyes to follow my gesture. I had expected her to put me down before she moved to retrieve the slightly distressed device, but she surprised me by straining to reach for it, while still holding me on her knee, and supporting me in an upright position with her other arm.

"What is it?" She asked me.

"It helps me get around," I replied to her, being a little too blunt.

I could tell that she did not understand what I meant at first, as the device was somewhat foreign to her. She had seen the machines which were used by the RDA, the airships, earth movers and AMP Suits, but as she looked at my humble little wheelchair, it was obvious she was having a great deal of difficulty discerning the usefulness and practicality of it.

Without further explanation, I pulled the chair closer to myself, then after engaging the hand brakes attached to each wheel, I braced my arms on each armrest, and hoisted myself up into the chair, while pivoting my waist and torso to allow this feat. A jaded realization flashed in my mind just then, that doing so each time has made me feel like a piece of saltwater taffy. Twisted, stretched, and pulled beyond my limit.

With my weight now fully supported by the chair, I scooted back further into it, and fastened its seatbelt around my waist, knowing that by doing so I was fully admitting my dependance on the mechanical apparatus.

"Jake... I do not understand... You cannot run through the forest and climb in the trees like this..." Neytiri stated, her voice laced with disbelief.

For months, ever since our first meeting, I had been dreading this moment. I had been struggling with the fundamentals of it. The Na'vi are a very physical people. They take pride in their bodies and in their world. By contrast, we humans have grown soft and docile due to our dependance on technology which has become the cornerstone of our lives. We substitute physical strength for AMP Suits, and instead of coexisting with the ecosystems and harsh environments of our planet we conquer them, bulldoze them, demolish any unsightly wild remnants, and remold the remains into whatever sort of glass and concrete jungle we see fit.

How can I explain this to Neytiri? I want her to be understanding of my condition, but I do not want her pity, nor do I want her to look at me any differently because of my limitations. Since I had lost the use of my legs, relationships had been a struggle for me. I would meet a woman who was funny, attractive and intelligent. After getting to know her for awhile, I would express my interest in a date, or if I was really smitten, a relationship.

But in every case, it would always end in the same, a brief but passionate fling, followed by a less intimate and more subdued sequence of dates, and then a confession on the part of my partner at the time, admitting their unhappiness with the state of our relationship, because I did not fit into their long-term goals. I always mused that the girls who eventually broke it off with me must've figured out late one night that I'd never be able to carry them across the threshold of our home after marriage, or chase our frisky toddler after walking becomes second nature. That is, unless I was able to procure the funding to surgically repair the damage to my spine, though given my skills and previous employment history, my financing options were pretty much nil.

One thing I admired about the Na'vi were their brazen honesty. If someone didn't like me, they said so, they didn't hide behind a flimsy veneer of social etiquette or sugar-coat their words. They were up front, and in your face about it. If they were pissed off at you, they may laugh as you fell in the mud, pull a knife on you, or try to kick your ass in some sort of scuffle, but at least you could see it coming. There is no deception, no pretense, no games.

"I can't walk," I told her, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Jake... I do not... I have seen you walk many times... You even chased me, as if you were the hunter and I the Yerik." Her soft amber eyes glazed over for a heartbeat, lost in memories, then snapped back to the present. "How is it that you are not able to walk now?"

"A few years ago, I was wounded in battle, the part of my body that helped me to control my legs was damaged. Since then, I haven't been able to move a muscle in them." To further illustrate this point, I gestured to my legs, while taking some time to better arrange myself in my chair. I had debated lifting up one of my drab olive-colored pant legs to show her that the muscles in my legs had atrophied due to disuse, however I decided that it probably wasn't a good idea. No need to hammer the point home harder than I already had.

"It is not within the power of your tribe to heal your malady?" She asked me inquisitively.

Of all of the questions I had imagined her asking me after I told her the truth, I wasn't expecting this one. As I looked at her through the mask of my re-breather, I tried to think of the best way to explain the facts of the matter without delving too deep into Human culture, commerce, and ethical ideals.

She was still crouched and looking at my eyes. I wondered idly if it was because the interior of the bunker seemed cramped and oppressing to her, or if she was afraid to hurt my pride by breaking eye contact with me. Deciding that I did not want to find out the answer, I pushed the thought to the back of my mind, and focused on giving a proper answer to the question that she had already asked me.

"It is... But since I am not powerful, or important enough to my people, I would have to go through many trials to prove my worth, before they would grant me the gift of healing."

It was a skewed version of the truth, but the Na'vi had no concept of money, they traded with neighboring tribes regularly, but it was mostly for food, or other commodities of life. They did not see value in precious metals, or shiny stones as Humans did.

"Once again, you have shown me the foolishness of the Sky People... My Jake... To think that they are so blind to the honor and bravery that lives within you, is truly sad." Neytiri informed me.

For her, it was that simple? She could look past everything else that scarred me, and value me for the core of my being? Granted, I imagined that she was looking at me through rose-tinted glasses, because I didn't fancy myself to be as brave and honorable as she professed that I was. However, with her questions settled, we had more important things to do. I would have to wait until later to dissect her opinions of me.

"Uh, thanks?" I answered her sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of my head. "I guess they're all Scouns, huh?"

The barest flash of a smile crossed her lips and a humming giggle escaped her throat.

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Parker Selfridge was seething with anger. No. No. No. Seething didn't even begin to describe the dark feelings that were radiating within him. He was royally and truly pissed. He should've never given in to grandiose ideas that Colonel Miles Quaritch had propagated.

"Some Goddamn 'Shock and Awe' campaign this whole fiasco turned out to be," the young executive muttered to himself, while restlessly pacing his office and clutching a golf ball in each hand.

It was a stress relief technique that his therapist had taught him before he had undertaken his post on Pandora. During his adolescent years he had been prone to violent mood swings and shifts in attitude that had resulted in poor choices and bad behavior on his part.

His old man was a staunch Roman Catholic and believed that disobedience and bad behavior had to be dealt with swiftly, and sometimes in Parker's case, quite brutally. His father had beat him with a belt more times than he could count, in order to get him to straighten up and fly right. Then he had rammed the preachings in the bible down his throat as if the book was actually filled with true holy and gospel doctrine, and not the ranting delusions of a bunch of old geezers.

Parker thought his father's religion was barbaric, archaic, and better left in the past. But after a while he had gotten wise to the order of things, and realized that if he wanted to get ahead in life, he had to be willing to play the game. So, in the end, he had taken all the shit his father had given him, listened to all the gospel from the "Good Book", and pretended to be a changed man.

But in reality, he wasn't. He was still the pissed "hellion" that his father had always tried to beat into repentance, just a little older and a lot wiser. He focused on his grades and studied hard, landing a scholarship to Princeton, and escape from the two-bit backwater town his father had called home. In the end, he didn't have the discipline to stay the course through school and finish the degrees he had originally planned on obtaining. Mostly because he realized that the degrees were worthless pieces of paper, that wouldn't really get him that far ahead in the end.

What really mattered was who you knew, and what you did to build a reputation for yourself. So, Parker had left Princeton in a blaze of glory one day shortly before mid-terms were to commence. He had even gone so far as to give the Dean of Admissions the bird, when the pudgy and balding little puke had threatened to revoke his scholarships and demand immediate repayment of his student loans, unless he was willing to comply with his mid-term requirements and continue his schooling.

More than who you knew and what you did to build a reputation for yourself, Parker learned that the best way to get ahead was to exploit the reputation of those more powerful than you, as they would be able to give you a helpful boost whenever you needed it. He further ratified this ideal when he had informed the Dean of Admissions that he was aware of the fact, that the pudgy little man had been skimming money from school for several years, and that if he wished to keep his job and prevent the proof from going to the press, he'd play nice with Parker, and allow him to do what he wanted with his student loans.

Needless to say, the man had folded like a bad poker hand, and Parker had left Princeton for a cramped little apartment in New Manhattan. Once there he had taken whatever odd jobs he could tolerate, while doing his best to learn the ins and outs of the city, as well as who the big players were. After waiting tables for a few weeks at a local nightclub, he had gotten to know the habits of one of the mid-level RDA executives, including a few weaknesses he was sure he could exploit given the correct circumstances.

Knowing this, Parker hired some local muscle, to stage a mugging against the gluttonous executive, seemingly allowing Parker to rush in with a baseball bat and save the fat cat from what he thought to be his certain doom. After he had chased away the hired thug and his cronies, the corporate ne'er-do-well was rightfully grateful, and had offered Parker a handout from his wallet in the form of a large sum of cash. Knowing that if he played his cards right, it was only the tip of the iceberg, Parker declined the man's offer while simultaneously praising his generosity.

Parker kowtowed to the man further, knowing that it would appeal to his vanity, and requested that the executive give him a job as his assistant, so that Parker could learn from his greatness. In the end, the executive had deemed Parker fit to be his gopher and had given him a job, totally unaware of the manipulations Parker had orchestrated over the entire situation. Eventually, after working for the man for awhile, Parker had been able to stockpile enough dirt on the guy, to blackmail him into giving him a promotion, followed by another, and another, until he was firmly entrenched within the hierarchy of the RDA.

From there, he applied his knowledge and skills to further excel within the company. Parker abhorred actual physical labor, but as an executive, he was allowed to make decisions, take risks, and reap the benefits of a position of power. Though, before he could climb higher within the company, he was sent to Pandora, in order to tame the savages of the world, and begin mining the vasts stores of the power-rich mineral laying untapped beneath the moon's crust.

Shortly after arriving on the flea-bitten, bug infested, back-water and inhospitable satellite, he yearned for the sterile environments of Earth. But, nevertheless, Parker was a company man. He knew that in order to achieve his goals and further his career, he'd have to hunker down and get the job done. Prospects looked bright. Especially with the support of Colonel Quaritch and his SecOps forces. They were making progress, even when taking into account the hindrance of Dr. Grace Augustine and her Avatar Program. However, shortly after the disabled Marine had arrived, things had gone to hell in a handbasket.

Honestly, Parker couldn't see what Jake Sully admired about the Blue Monkeys so much. Sure, he could relate with the guy and his curiosity about getting a bit of the local tail, but what was so special about the Na'vi that Sully was willing to betray his own race, in order to help them protect their land? To Parker, the entire idea was unfathomable.

Once Sully, Augustine and that hippy whimp Spellman had gone rogue, taking with them a SecOps pilot and a Samson Gunship, Parker hadn't stopped Quaritch from putting a kibosh on the whole damned Avatar Program at Hell's Gate. But that hadn't stopped Sully from interfering, even after Dr. Augustine had disappeared. Parker wasn't sure if the woman was still alive, but Quaritch had been positive that he winged her during their escape.

"Goddamn it," Parker shouted.

There he went again, putting his faith in Quaritch, the man still hadn't reported back in from the field. His impromptu bombing of the 'Sacred Pink Tree' seemed to be a failure though. Locator beacons on the Gunships and Airships sent out had all gone dark, ground beacons on the AMP Suit Platoon were toast as well, though his techies had told him that it wasn't really a good indication of what was actually happening out there, as the natural interference that occurred in the area of the battle could be causing malfunctions.

Still... Parker knew... He felt it in his gut... The certainty dwelled there in a knotted lump, which he could not ignore.

That was why he had the golf balls, he was trying to keep busy by squeezing on them, instead of making fists so tight that his fingernails dug into his palm, because the sight of his own blood never did him any good. Better to punish the golf balls, than to punish himself.

A faint buzzing noise issued from his desk, causing the angry and anxious man to snarl in surprise, and lob a pitted ball at the source of the disturbance. The ball sailed through the air, hit the desk with a thump, ricocheted off the black lacquered surface, and fell to the floor harmlessly.

"Shit."

Parker walked over to the desk, while reaching up to loosen his silk necktie with his free hand, and punched the glowing intercom button with his fist , which still clutched his other remaining golf ball.

"You'd better have some good news Quaritch, or when you get back, the enlisted men aren't going to be the only ones on latrine duty." Parker bellowed into the intercom, relieved at finally being able to vent his frustrations at someone.

"No Sir, it's Comm Tech Meyers," a clipped female voice replied, "we haven't heard from the Colonel yet, but we've gotten reports and data-feed from one of the Scorpions that was able to clear the flux vortex."

"And?"

"Sir, beg your pardon, but you might want to come and have a look at the data yourself." Meyers replied.

"Just tell me what the hell is going on, or send someone in here to give me the gist of it," Parker snapped back, "I've been staring at those damn monitors for the last six hours, and I've got a bitch of a headache."

"Uhh... Sir... The Valkyrie is down, Papa Dragon is down, and our forces are in retreat." Meyers replied hesitantly.

"Excuse me?" Parker asked, quirking an eyebrow. "You jokin' lady? 'Cause I thought I just heard you tell me that our mercenary forces failed their mission and are retreating from a bunch of overgrown Smurfs wearing loincloths."

Meyers didn't reply to Parker, nothing but dead air followed his rant, and the man chuckled to himself in satisfaction, imagining that he had left the woman dumbfounded.

"Sir, this is Comm Tech Meyers, our connection is five by five," she finally responded. "Let me repeat, the mission is FUBAR, the target remains, our forces are in retreat. This is no joke!"

"Fuck!" Parker shouted.


	3. Eye of the Storm

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

* * *

**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** R

* * *

**Eye of the Storm**

"Look, I don't care if your idea makes sense or not," Max argued. "There are still too many variables to consider, and given those, the whole charade is too risky."

Moments before, the man had been seated at the sparse metal table, which they had shared amicably during their conversation, but he had become agitated by their difference in opinion and had taken to pacing since then.

Not that there was much room to move in the confines of the cargo bay (which could more aptly be called a room, or even a walk-in closet) besides the brushed steel table and pair of chairs, there was a lone pitcher of water and two Styrofoam cups. Florescent lights washed the room in a soft white glow and hummed at a low pitch, almost like the wings of a hummingbird. A few egg-shell white crates were strewn haphazardly in the corner, left forgotten long enough to collect a good amount of dust.

"We can't just sit here twiddling our thumbs, waiting for Quaritch and his SecOps cronies to finish duking it out with the Na'vi, because when the dust settles, the Na'vi will still be pissed, and coming after us," his companion replied in a steely tone.

"You seem pretty optimistic given the circumstances," the bespectacled doctor replied, changing tact. "What makes you think the Na'vi will overtake Quaritch and his goons?"

"Simple, home field advantage." the man replied.

"Huh?" Max asked slightly confused.

"In human history, several wars have taken place against different cultures, and even in cases where the aggressor is more technologically advanced, the underdog still tends to come out on top, due to strong moral convictions or the homefield advantage," he paused. "Didn't you ever study military history while you were in school?"

"Sorry, no, I was more interested in the future," Max admitted, coming to a standstill and regarding the man with crossed arms. "Not things that happened in the past."

"The most notable example I could give you is a war that began nearly 200 years ago. It was a war that took place between the governments of North and South Vietnam, spurred to life by different political ideals. The North Vietnamese where the underdogs of the war, as the South Vietnamese were aided by the United States and other non-communist countries towards the end of hostilities, who had greater military resources at the time. But in the end, after a conflict that spanned nearly twenty years, North Vietnam won the war."

"How?" Max asked.

"Guerrilla warfare, subterfuge, and other tactics that were highly taboo." the man replied.

His passionate speech had caused Dr. Max Patel to regard him in a new light, and in doing so, he studied the man and his features more closely, perhaps in an attempt to gauge the mettle of his resolve. His stature wasn't tall, or his build overly muscular, however the man seemed to radiate a calm sense of confidence. He had sandy blonde hair the flowed in waves slightly down past his ears, and eyes that looked like smoky gray pieces of chipped charcoal. His face was heavy with scruff, and probably hadn't seen a razor in several days.

His name was Frank Bastion, and while Max had only become recently aware of the man, he had a reputation within Hell's Gate as a level-headed sort, who only resorted to violence when forced. He had sought Max out shortly after the beginning of Quaritch's campaign against the Tree of Souls, after hearing sketchy rumors about his ongoing connection with Jake Sully, and the rest of the rogue Terrans.

But after being lured here by Bastion to discuss a possible coup d'etat against their resource hungry brethren, Max was beginning to question both the logic and sanity of this man, more specifically his hopes to overthrow the remaining SecOps forces on the base, and his plan to commandeer it after forcing them into submission.

"So what, you think we can just waltz into the Command Center, and tell Selfridge it's a hostile takeover? Executive or not, he's not going to rollover and play dead." Max protested.

"How many of Quaritch's men do you think are still left on the base?" Bastion asked.

"There are over sixty Marines left on the base," Max replied.

"I'm not asking about the number of Marines left here! What I want to know is, how many of Colonel Quaritch's loyal men are still left on the base?" Bastion rephrased his question.

There was a brief pause while the doctor made some estimations, and it was during that time that Bastion reached for the condensation heavy pitcher of water, and poured himself a few ounces into one of the available Styrofoam cups. While he gulped down the flat-tasting filtered water, he watched the bearded man out of the corner his eye, and waited for his response.

"Maybe half of those Marines left are loyal to Quaritch," Max answered hesitantly. "The rest are a mixed bag of career soldiers, people working for a paycheck, and adrenaline junkies."

"Well Doctor, regardless of previous military training and background, the men who are still loyal to Quaritch, including those who flew with him, aren't fit to be called Marines any longer." Bastion told him. "In this case, and all those going forward, I think calling them Mercenaries would be more apt."

"Whatever," Max mumbled, licking his lips shortly afterward. "What is it you guys are planning to do exactly?"

"I'm keeping those cards close to my vest for the time being," Bastion said. "The fewer who know, the better."

"What's with the closet session then?" Max asked. "Why'd you want to meet me here?"

"I need a few things from you..." Bastion began.

* * *

Safely strapped into my wheelchair I took a second to withdraw the re-breather unit from the emergency holding compartment in its entirety, and wrapped the apparatus around my waist, connecting the pack with the snap-on buckle. Once that was done, I took a moment to survey the damage done to the bunker.

Shards of glass littered the rubberized floor in pebble-like fragments that glittered as if they were diamonds. The shell of the structure had been torn and warped by the fury of Quaritch's attack with the AMP Suit, it was as if the bunker were a orange, and he had casually began to peel away its skin. There were small bits of gray metal strewn about here and there, and as I peered through the breach where the windows had previously been, I could see even more steel on the jungle floor, not far from where the lifeless body of my adversary had come to rest.

Surely one of the POD's was damaged beyond repair, but I had no way of knowing about the condition of the other two, as the solar generator which powered the bunker had gone offline, and I had yet to engage the battery backups.

During my entire inspection of the damage, Neytiri watched me quietly, she regarded me as if I were an entirely new creature, and she had not seen Humans up close before. I wondered what thoughts were hidden behind her golden eyes, but I had little time to question her, or ponder further about her musings, I had to get a better handle on what was going on outside of this bunker, and our little clearing.

I wheeled over to one of the computer terminals that had access to the communications array, and booted the system up, while the microchips and other mechanical components sprang to life, I shifted the chair slightly, to face Neytiri once more.

"We need to find out what is happening with Spellman and the others. Earlier, before the beasts joined our attack, I couldn't get any of them to answer when I called them, only you." I paused. "So, while I try and drop them a line, maybe you could pull my Avatar inside the bunker, so we can keep a better eye on it?"

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. Maybe she had never heard the Human term for our remote-controlled hybrid Na'vi bodies? Nevertheless, I'm sure she could catch my drift without many questions. I shrugged slightly, and pointed out toward the body which I had felt so alive in. She followed my gesture, looked back at me, then out toward the jungle, without the need for further communication she sprang out of the bunker as nimbly as a kangaroo, and I turned back to the computer which had finished its start-up sequence.

I navigated the operating system of the computer with practiced ease, resorting to using the touchscreen rather than the voice commands, as I wanted to stay silent enough to hear Neytiri, if she were to call out in alarm. The computer was functioning on its own independent battery, which remained at half life, and would hopefully last for as long as I needed it to. I opened up the satellite images taken when the area had been mapped several years prior. The images were fuzzy, and the resolution was grainy, more than that, the images were practically useless thanks to the flux and the fact that the topography had changed to such a great extent since the images had originally been taken.

I had no choice, I had to work with the tools that were available to me, so I tried to bring up the GPS locator beacons which I had passed out with the communicators before we encountered the RDA. There were somewhat unreliable due to the interference from the flux vortex, but Spellman and Trudy had both assured me that if they came within 500 yards of the master unit, which was located within this bunker, there would be discernible location readings given.

I'm no computer geek, but as far as I could tell, the GPS program was functioning normally, and should pick up any approaching GPS signals, whether they were from my friends, or our enemies. Behind me, I could hear Neytiri grunting in exertion, and while I sympathized with the difficulty of her undertaking, there wasn't much I could do to assist her, given the circumstances, so I focused on finding our friends.

I queued up the communications link, and isolated the radio frequency which we had been using to coordinate our attack, with that done, I reached for the headset which rested on a cluttered shelf above my head, ignored the mess when some bric-a brac fell from the shelf, bounced off of the arm of my chair and clattered to the floor, and snugged the device to my ear.

Once I opened the isolated radio frequency, I was rewarded with the hiss of dead air, and I listened for anyone who might be broadcasting. Hearing nothing, I engaged the microphone and spoke.

"Spellman? Trudy? Tsu'tey?" I called. "Can anyone hear me?"

"I can hear you Jake," Neytiri called from behind me.

"From where?" I asked her.

"Both from where you sit now," she said, "and from the ray-dee-o you gave me earlier."

I turned back to look at her, and was surprised to see that she had somehow managed to hoist my Avatar into a comfortable looking sitting position, using a piece of the lime-colored gel mattress from the damaged POD, as a cushion to prop it against.

Spellman had told me that there had been cases where Drivers had become quite unnerved by occupying the same room as their Avatar bodies, after they had spent a great deal of time with it. He said that the psychologists studying those suffering from such feelings of vexation had guessed that it had something to do with seeing your own likeness in two places at once.

That sounded like a load of garbage to me though, because if that were the case, why weren't identical twins unnerved with the idea of sharing the same room with each other, or the same childhood house?

"Crap, I'm getting distracted..." I mumbled, turning back to the computer, and engaging the microphone once more. "Hello? Anyone copy? Trudy? Rogue One? Tsu'tey? My brother...?" I let the call hang, and disengaged, greeted only by static once more.

The static wasn't really a byproduct of the flux, or some other form of connection interference, it was there to let the user know that they were connected to a radio frequency, both with the ability to transmit and receive audio. The static had been left in place to put the mind of the user at ease, to reassure them that the equipment was functional. But, right now, all it was doing was pissing me off.

"Isn't the ray-dee-o working Jake?" Neytiri asked, still somewhere behind me.

"I think so, but nobody is answering me," I replied. The fact that I had been unable to raise anyone was quite worrisome, if they weren't able to answer me, then it was quite possible some terrible fate had befallen each of them.

I remember the bleakest moment we all shared on this day, it was a communal sense of uncertainty that overcame us during that faithful point in time, when the ominous question undoubtedly played in each of our minds, would we beat them?

Well, whether by the sacrifice of blood, hand of fate, or grace of Eywa, we had repelled the attack against the Tree of Souls. But, at what cost? Would the soil of this land now bear a bad harvest, since it had been tainted with the bowels of our enemies? As Neytiri would say, only the mother knows.

I turned to the woman, who remained crouched near my other body in a protective posture, her eyes were focused on the patch of jungle visible through the breach. She was busy studying the trees that lined the edge of the clearing, seemingly intent on locating some previously unengaged menace.

"Is something out there?" I asked her.

"I do not know... But it is possible..." Neytiri sighed. "...I am only bothered because the jungle is so quiet."

Neytiri had taught me that the most dangerous times in the jungle, were the quiet ones. When you cannot detect a chirp, squeak, yip, yelp or growl, then you should be worried. Because it usually meant that something higher up on the food chain had spooked the smaller animals and caused them to hide, in fear of becoming dinner.

"Jake?" Neytiri called to me, still gazing through the breach and into the jungle.

"Hmm?" I grunted my reply while staring at her.

She turned to look at me, her amber eyes locked with my blue ones and studied me intently. I held her stare, while I waited for her to speak.

"I must go and see what is happening with my people," she informed me, her voice melting into a softer tone than she had used previously. "Can you come with me?"

Her eyes flicked to my Avatar and betrayed her desire. While I wished that I could follow her, I knew that I was trapped here for the time being. Without the ability to restart a POD and operate it in a breathable and pressurized atmosphere, there was no way I could link with my Na'vi counterpart.

"I can't now Neytiri, the device that allows me freedom in that body is not working now," I told her. "Until it is fixed, I am stuck in this form."

"I understand, but it is like you said before," she paused. "We need to find out what is happening with the others."

"Yeah," I agreed. "But, lemme guess, you're worried about leaving me here alone, aren't you?"

"You know as well as I do, that there are things in the jungle, for which you would make a nice meal," Neytiri told me candidly.

"Maybe, but I'll give them a helluva case of acid indigestion first," I said.

"I do not know those words, what do they mean?" She asked, arching her eyebrows.

It was just as well, if she knew I was being sarcastic and making light of my safety, she would probably get angry. But, in truth, I had been taking care of myself as long as I could remember, and I was determined not to let my disability hamper my independence, or become a burden to those that I care for.

Removing the earpiece and placing in on the desk, I turned away from the computer terminal and wheeled over to a slightly battered storage cabinet, I disengaged the latching mechanism and tried to pry the door of the cabinet open, it protested with a groan, and the sound of grinding metal, but I was finally able to open the door, only to set it aside afterward as it had fallen off of its hinges. Reaching inside of it, I rifled around until I found what I was looking for.

I pulled in free from the confines of the damaged compartment, and removed the handgun from its holster. The handgun is a fully automatic Makarov pistol, capable of firing hollow-point fragmentation rounds. As I had previously packed away the weapon, I knew that the magazine was fully loaded, and that a live round of ammunition waited in the breech of the weapon. I checked to make sure that the safety switch was still properly engaged, and re-holstered the weapon. I attached the holster to the same belt that held my re-breather in place and smiled wanly at Neytiri.

"I'll be able to handle myself for a little while," I replied. "You should check on Mo'at and the rest of the Omaticaya anyways. I'm sure they're worried about you."

Still crouched, Neytiri shuffled over to me and placed a hand on my chest, she smiled at me, and said nothing. As I watched her in earnest, I wondered if she knew that my heartbeat still quickened at the whim of her touch, or that there were times in which I was still nervous around her.

"You are also Omaticaya," She said without removing her hand, I could feel its warmth through the fabric of my T-shirt. "As well as my mate, do not assume that what has happened today has changed anything."

I was taken aback momentarily by the sudden proclamation of her heartfelt words. It was as if she had peered into my mind, and was able to divulge my errant fears. Before I could speak, she quickly changed tact.

"If the leaders from the other tribes ask to see the Toruk Makto, what am I to tell them?" Neytiri asked.

"The truth, that I'm trying to find my friends," I answered.

* * *

Since he had ejected foolishly from the POD and trudged out into the jungle things hadn't gotten much better for Norman Spellman. He knew full well that his Avatar was wounded during the firefight on the ground. He had felt the impact of a bullet, but the feedback from the injury had caused him to lose connection shortly afterward.

When he had fallen out of the POD, his lungs were burning, and his shoulder was on fire. Worse than that, he could not catch his breath. He had stumbled out of the research bunker in a rush, grabbing little more than a re-breather and a rifle. To make matters even more deplorable, he had gone charging off into the jungle half-cocked, like some war bent meat-head, with little more of a plan in mind, then trying to locate his Avatar... and Trudy Chacon.

Though they had kept it very quiet, and hadn't really mentioned it to anyone, they had shared a brief kiss in the cockpit of the Samson shortly before they had taken their positions. It had been a bit of an experience for Norm, Trudy had pushed him back against the co-pilot seat; not expecting the quick shift in his own weight, he flailed his arms, and let out a cry of surprise involuntarily.

That cry of surprise was quickly muffled by Trudy's lips. They pressed against his hungrily, and in that moment Norm was overcome with the sensations of it all. Her lips were plump, soft and hesitant. Though she had began their little encounter with a fierce display of authority, the kiss became gentle and warm. Even now, all Norm could remember was the bitter smell of grease and the taste of cinnamon, thanks to the gum that she favored.

It had been awkward after the kiss had broken and Norm had questioned her as to her intentions.

"Uh... Wha-, um, why the kiss?" He had asked, stuttering like a clown the entire time. He remembered feeling his face grow hot and red with a blush, and the heat traveling up to his ears. Knowing that they had been in a pressurized environment did little to make him feel better, he could not blame the heat for his change in color, since the cabin air was also climate-controlled.

"Let's just say it is for good luck," she answered coyly with a wry grin and a throaty laugh. "Okay cowboy?"

Though his mind was muddled with thoughts of the Hispanic helicopter pilot, he could not allow himself to daydream any longer. He had to focus on the tasks at hand. Getting distracted on Pandora almost always meant certain death. First, he would find his Avatar, then worry about locating Trudy and the others.

He had left the bunker running, almost an hour before, but he had been forced to hide several times, in order to ensure that he would not be discovered by any remaining rogue RDA forces. He had remembered cursing his luck just a few minutes before, while he was crouched against the trunk of a tree, as the inside of his face mask had fogged up. He was forced to depressurize his mask, and wipe at the offending beads of condensation with the hem of his now dirty shirt.

Throughout his whole misadventure, he had kept expecting to be faced with a surprise encounter, though it had not come to that as of yet. The thing that had him skittish was the remaining pockets of violence. Though the area around the bunker had been quiet and relatively unscathed, this was due to its proximity to the Tree of Souls, which they had all made a vow to protect. As they had set up their defensive line a great distance away from the tree, it had given them the chance to manage the traffic of the fight as it were, and ensure that nobody on the ground or in the air had gotten too close. Though that defensive line had been breached by Quaritch's airship and his jimmy-rigged bomber, they had actually held it quite well. As a result, the bunker and the Tree of Souls were the eye of the storm in a hurricane of chaos. The farther away from the two he traveled, the worse the carnage was.

There was scorched trees, charred saplings and trampled foliage. Twisted metal, broken glass and spent bullet shell casings littered the ground like some kind of macabre confetti. What was worse was the sight of broken and mangled bodies. Though in this fight his Human kin had been their enemy, he held no malice toward them, seeing all the torn, bruised, and broken bodies, the only emotion that he felt was pity, the only reaction his body gave was nausea.

It was the Na'vi that affected him on a deeper level, each of their large and graceful bodies he passed tore at him more and more, rending his heart into pieces. They did not deserve this, nor did they ask for this, they just wanted to live their life as they always had. Norm realized that it was the Human capacity for curiosity that had spurned man's desire for space travel and exploration, but on the other hand it was greed and gluttony that had caused the Na'vi to suffer this damnable fate.

He tried not to focus on the philosophical, or on educated thought, he tried to narrow his mind and focus on his destination, like a hawk focuses on its prey. Climbing up a grassy hill, while staying near the treeline, he was greeted with the sight of the river they had crossed during their conflict. The rifle was heavy in his hands, and he knew as he approached the stream that he would have to cross it as quickly as possible, as it was at this time that he would be most vulnerable.

Norm stepped into the stream, and began to work his was across it. His military-issue boots were constructed of leather, with steel-reinforced toes and heavy rubber soles, and while they were sturdy and reliable on land, they did nothing to help his traction in the water. Now waist deep in the stream, he had to fight the current to stay standing, and plan each of his steps carefully, to ensure that he did not slip on the algae-coated rocks that rested in the streambed.

As he continued moving forward, he was forced to raise his rifle above his head to keep it from getting wet, as the water was now up to his armpits. For him, the experience was quite daunting and a little disorientating, as he had vivid memories of crossing this stream while controlling his Avatar, and the water had been little more than thigh deep.

As he struggled onto the embankment on the other side of the stream, he heard a low moan of pain, and words which were being mumbled so quickly, they became slurred and unintelligible. Squinting his eyes through the plexiglass face mask of his re-breather, he wiped away some beaded water that had found its way onto it while he splashed through the stream. He brought the rife to bear, supporting the butt of the weapon against his shoulder, then sweeping the barrel of the gun from the left, to the right, while searching for the source of the disturbing sounds.

Ahead of him was a large mossy boulder, this massive behemoth seemed to be rooted in the ground as if it had resided in that spot for centuries, half covered in soil, a flowering fern grew in a soil encrusted patch atop the otherwise unremarkable stone. As Norm made his way toward the boulder, he realized that the muttering sounds grew louder and more distinct, it was a man speaking in heavily-accented English, seemingly torn between crying and giggling at the same time.

Though the man had not come into view, Norm had surmised with a great deal of certainty that he was somewhere on the other side of the boulder. He crept up to the boulder as quietly as possible, all the while trying to ignore the squish and squelch his now drenched boots and sopping clothes made each time he took a step, simultaneously praying that the still phantasmal man did not hear his approach.

He rounded the left side of the boulder, hands tightly clutching the rifle, finger hovering on the trigger guard. Dr. Norm Spellman was tired, wet, hungry, and having a really shitty day. The tall and angular brown-haired and green-eyed man thought he was ready for anything, but when he finished rounding the boulder, and reached the other side, what he saw made his fair skin turn a ghostly shade of white and his blood run cold.

* * *

The plan was simple, Frank Bastion had learned that in war, the best plans often were. But, while the troops were gathered, and their weapons readied, he needed to prepare himself for the challenges that lay ahead. Though he had become lax in his faith during recent years, he had found himself praying just moments before. Even now, after his prayer, he wore the medallion of Saint Sebastian, hoping that the Patron Saint of Soldiers would see his cause worthy, and grant him a little luck.

What was he doing? Why was he intent on doing all of this?

Frank had heard rumors over the past few days about Jake Sully going AWOL, as well as the trouble he was causing for the RDA, and though he did not personally know the man, he had decided that he wanted to shake his hand. Frank had grown up in Ireland, amid domestic fighting and oppression of religious and cultural beliefs, and had spent his adolescent years and early adulthood trying to gain the freedom to be his own man. So, on that level, he could respect the Na'vi, and their struggle for the land and life they so richly deserved.

Shortly after learning of Quaritch's planned genocide, Frank had reacted in silent disgust, and decided that he could no longer stomach any activities that, while benefiting the greater good of humanity, resulted in the slaughter of innocents. His hands would not be stained with the blood of lambs. There were other hushed pockets of protest, and he had seized upon those, to gather men that felt as he did.

He now had a squad of 12, counting himself, that would attack central points crucial to the defense of Hell's Gate. They would take control of those areas, and by doing so, render the remaining forces within the base impotent. If everything went according to plan, they would then allow a party of Na'vi warriors to occupy the base and share control.

After that, they would just have to make things up as they went along...

For now, he sat in his bunk, which was little more than a five-by-ten foot steel closet, that he shared with a bloke named Will Archer, in this struggle they were compatriots, but the man was elsewhere, presumably readying himself as well.

Moments before his impromptu prayer Bastion had consumed a vacuum-sealed bag of dried apples, and was now enjoying a snifter-sized portion of whiskey, from a dented metal flask. The alcohol warmed his belly like liquid fire, and eased his mind, as he resigned himself to the task at hand.

All that was left now, was to wait, word had traveled (such as these things did), that the fight was not going well for the RDA. That the forces were in retreat, and Quaritch was missing in action. That had been almost an hour and a half ago.

"Sully, old boy?" Bastion asked the room quietly, "did you get yourself a piece of the devil?"

Hopefully, they would know soon, he had asked Dr. Patel to contact the man, and inform them of their intentions. With or without the Na'vi, they would strike in an hour.


	4. The Devilish Designs of Man

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

* * *

**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** R

* * *

**The Devilish Designs of Man**

She moved as fluidly as oil across water, as lithely as a Nantang engaged in the hunt, as quickly as an Ikran glides through the sky and as quietly as an Atokirina carried on the wind. Every footstep was confident, poised and quick. But as she ran, she realized that it was not in effort to see to the safety of her mother or the people of her tribe, it was only to escape the turmoil in her heart and the painful memories hidden in the deepest corners of her mind.

The Sky People; Earthlings; Terrans; Humans. She had learned what they called themselves from Doctor Grace Augustine, she had learned their language to a workable extent, as well of snippets of traditions, songs and stories. But all of the things she had learned were the pretty things, the things they had wanted her to know. As any young hunter discovers, the most cunning predators will always remain docile, before they lunge at your neck with their fangs bared, hoping for the kill.

Hadn't they proven that to her before?

As the question played across her mind, her nimble footsteps faltered and a wretched moan bubbled to life low in her throat, like bile which needed to be purged.

_**She did not want to remember! She did not! Would not! Not now! **_

Still trying to escape the memory, she willed herself to run faster, and even faster still, until her lungs were burning and her heart thumped against her ribcage, like a flint against steel. Even without wings, she flew through the forest. She had left Jake and the broken research bunker behind only moments before, with the intention of meeting up with the rest of the Omaticaya, and possibly the other clan leaders to regroup and plan their next move, but those plans were forgotten as she ran, trying to escape the bitter memories of her past.

Branches, leaves and low-hanging vines whipped past her face in a frenzied cyan blur. She ran as fast as she could, away from Jake, away from the carnage of the battle, away from the Tree of Souls, but no matter how far she ran physically, she could not hold back the torrent of memories that threatened to engulf her.

She is Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite, a hunter, a princess, mated to the sixth Toruk Makto...

But back then, she had only been a girl. Simple, innocent and pure. The other adolescents her age had been fascinated by the Sky People and their wondrous creations. The Omaticaya were too naive, too easily charmed by the promises of friendship and peace made by the pale aliens, to realize the trouble that was brewing. Because of this, Neytiri and her friends had been able to convince their parents and the elders of the tribe, to allow them to attend the school Dr. Grace Augustine had built for the Omaticaya and all Na'vi.

The Dreamwalkers had taught Neytiri and her friends much, as they had been rapt and eager pupils. However, not all of the students in Augustine's flagship class had shared the same sentiment. This group of rebellious youngsters was led by her older sister Sylwanin.

In the beginning Sylwanin had been equally enamored with the glib tongues of their human teachers, but as time wore on and the Sky People grew more bold, things changed. It had started slowly at first, they would wander past previously established territorial markers in the name of their beloved 'SCIENCE', to study plants, or take soil samples, and then feign innocence after being informed of their transgressions.

They did not seem to comprehend the horrors they wrought on each living thing in the jungle whenever their damnable sense of curiosity got the better of them. It came to a point several seasons ago when the pale devils had secretly started clear-cutting vast sections of forest down around the site of their initial encampment.

What had started as a small group of seemingly harmless visitors, changed into a parasitic infestation of yeera leeches. The hulking yellow beasts the Sky People rode, which tore through ancient trees her father had played on as a child, continued on without mercy, screeching and belching dark plumes into the heavens from which they had descended.

The result was a feeling of betrayal, a sense of disdain and an overwhelming compulsion to purge the interlopers from Omaticaya land. At first, the idea of launching a counterattack was only spoken of in short whispers in the dead of night, in hopes that trying to reason with the otherworldly visitors would result in a better mutual understanding.

But as time progressed, it was plain to see that the Sky People were truly insincere in regards to the Na'vi way of life and unwilling to show respect or compassion for the land which her tribe had been willing to share. Talk of war grew among the youngest hunters, little more than fresh faces from the Iknimaya Ritual, her sister Sylwanin among them.

Her parents as Olo'eyktan and Tsahik tried to reason with the young warriors, to instill within them trust in Eywa, to have faith that the horrendous matters would right themselves with time, that the All-Mother had not turned her back on the people.

Though Neytiri had been younger then, and didn't fully understand her sister's actions at the time, they resonated with her now on a very familiar level. She remembered those first days, after bonding with her Ikran - her beautiful Seze – she felt invincible and believed that together they could do anything.

Maybe it was the feeling of invincibility, coupled with a sense of righteous anger, that lead Sylwanin and the other Ikran Makto (which had completed the Iknimaya with her), to attack a bulldozer that belonged to the Sky People. They set it on fire, by casting burning arrows at it, from bows which were freshly carved from hometree.

But those feelings which were embraced by every young hunter did little to comfort them in the aftermath of their foolhardy assault on the Sky People. They were chased by SecOps forces from the site of the battle, and though they fled on Ikran, they were eventually tracked back to the Omaticaya hometree...

Neytiri ran faster still, trying to ignore the painful thump of her heart, the burning desire her lungs felt for oxygen, and the cramp that was starting to tighten like a fist in the pit of her stomach. She would endure all of these things and countless others, if only she were not subjected to the memories.

But those things (such as they are), errant whispers of the past. Tiny fragments of of our lives which we cannot recapture in earnest and thus hold onto in essence, sometimes refuse to be denied or ignored and eventually bubble to the forefront of the mind. This was the reality that was plaguing Neytiri now.

Try as she might, she could not fathom the timing that her own subconscious had, was this really the best instance to relive such painful and traumatic memories from her childhood?

But she couldn't help but remember.

She had been with her friends in Dr. Grace's School and the usually stoic woman had been telling them a children's fable. Which Neytiri had remembered to be rather funny! It had been made even more comical in part due to the exaggerated faces Dr. Augustine had made to lend more depth to the story.

Neytiri remembered giggling with a mirthful sense of childhood wonder at the antics of it all and clutching at her friends during the scary parts of the tale, wondering if the heroes of the yarn would live to see their happy ending, or if evil would triumph in the end.

There was a loud pop in the distance, it sounded so much like the fireworks which Dr. Augustine had presented them with during the end of the lunar cycle, that for a moment young Neytiri had been lost in a memory of those colorful blooms that danced in the sky, like flowers in the heavens.  
_**  
POP! Pop! Rata-rata-rata!**_

There was a scream, the sound of someone crying. A chorus of voices shouting. The story stopped, and Neytiri looked around at her classmates bewildered at what was going on.

"What the hell?" Dr. Augustine had asked in disbelief.

The schoolhouse was spartan and heavily inspired by Terran architecture. Rather than computers and holo-displays, there was a slate blackboard and several shelves of books. There were no desks, rather than that, roughly carved benches and over-sized pillows littered the room. But more than all of this, what gave the bare-bones building its charm were the drawings, paintings and photos which littered the wall. A mosaic of laughing children, smiling faces, earnest hopes and budding dreams.

"Shit... Is that gunfire?" Neytiri looked at the woman, who now inhabited what she had come to know as an Avatar. A second body, that while made to look Na'vi, was not truly of this world.

Near the blackboard was a mammoth desk, it was huge and sturdy. It was currently littered with watercolors and other painting supplies, which the students had intended to use to draw rainbows after the story had finished. Though, it became apparent to Neytiri that Dr. Grace had other plans.

The woman, dressed in strange Terran garbs, jumped up as lithely as the lioness which she had recently described in her story and ran over to the desk. Casting a frantic glance towards the door, Dr. Grace moved quickly behind the heavy wooden object and took hold of it as if it were a wild animal waiting to be tamed.

Neytiri watched as cords grew taunt in her neck and she grunted with the strain of lifting the object. Suddenly the desk was overturned onto its side. It crashed to the floor with a thunderous boom, that startled the children which had been paying more attention to the commotion outside. As bottles of watercolors rolled haphazardly in all directions, Neytiri's classmates started to cry.

"C'mon kids, hurry along with me, let's all get behind this desk," Dr. Grace called in English, then hurriedly repeated in a practiced Na'vi tongue, to better hold the attention of the frightened children.

At this point, Neytiri had still been more confused than frightened and she wondered what was happening outside. Though her curiosity was begging to be sated, she knew better than to disobey an elder, even if it was one that was not yet fully trusted by her clan. More than that, she had a sense that she had to be strong for the rest of the children, as if she did not do what Dr. Grace asked the others would surely follow suit.

Neytiri, the woman, who was still running through the jungle (from the very memories which currently replayed within the confines of her mind), slowed her frantic gallop across the forest floor. She stopped with a gasp and sat down on the gnarled moss-ridden trunk of an ancient tree. The woman, the warrior, the princess, she knew that she would not be able to win this battle and decided to succumb to the onslaught of the past and the tide of emotions that would follow. Better to face them, than to deny them. Better to sit and reflect for a few moments, than misjudge her footing and fall, while running from ghosts.

The warrior remembered the child that she once was. Remembered that after the desk was overturned and Dr. Grace had beckoned for them, she grabbed the hand of her nearest classmate, a chubby three-year-old boy named A'tre'yu. She swiftly pulled him to his feet, to lead him toward the sanctuary that was being offered. Reluctantly, the other children followed them, as the chaos outside continued to unfold.

Ten children, and a woman of two worlds huddled behind the large overturned desk, while watercolors ran together on the schoolhouse floor, drawn together by gravity the paints merged to form a rainbow of sorts. Blue, green, yellow, purple. All the colors of the rainbow were there, except one...

The door of the schoolhouse burst open suddenly and for a moment nobody moved, then Neytiri spied Dr. Grace peeking her head up and over the edge of the desk and decided to follow suit. Trying to muster all of the courage she could, little Neytiri gripped the top of the desk and raised her head to peer over its edge.

There was someone standing in the doorway, on the threshold of entering the school. Neytiri couldn't tell who it was at first, as they were hidden in the silhouette of shadow, which was made from the rays of the blazing afternoon sun.

"Dr. Grace? Are you here Dr. Grace?" A terrified voice called from the doorway. "We.. did a bad thing... it was a mistake.. please help!" Maybe there had been more to the heartfelt plea, but it had been lost to a wretched sob, which was filled with a despair unlike any other.

The person stumbled inside, but quickly regained their balance, flinging the door shut behind them, as if to cast away the horrors of the outside world. Neytiri had to blink several times to allow her eyes to refocus, due to the sudden change in lighting. By then Dr. Grace had moved from her crouched position and was standing beside the person who had been seeking her out. She grasped the visitor's shoulders with calm hands, in order to keep them both steady.

"Sylwanin... What's going on?" Dr. Grace asked in a hushed but urgent tone.

Neytiri remembered feeling numb upon realizing that the person who was hellbent on finding Dr. Grace, was her older sister. Though, in her defense, her older sister had been hardly recognizable. She was dressed in the garbs of a warrior. Feathers and beads adorned her head in an intricate and beautiful halo that portrayed innocence and danger in the same instant. A bow was strung across her back and rested loosely against a quiver of arrows. Holstered low around her midriff was her ceremonial knife, as well as a pouch of herbs that she usually carried.

But these things were normal and not stark enough to draw Neytiri's eye. What was out of the ordinary was the fact that her older sister, the same sister who had braided her hair when she was younger, was now covered in ivory warpaint. It cascaded down her body in a myriad of swirls and circular patterns that seemed both mystic and infinite. In those patterns there was no discernible beginning or end. As Neytiri grew older, she would come to realize that those patterns also held the key to one of the great philosophical beliefs of the Na'vi. Even in death, there is new life. When one thing ends, another begins.

"We saw a douser... dozer. It was.. killing the land, we tried to stop it," Sylwanin mumbled, while her unfocused amber eyes sought clarity by staring at Dr. Grace. "The men, the Sky People, they chased us. They attacked us. Ya'hira was struck down by one of their weapons."

The words became incoherent and were drowned out by gasping sobs. Neytiri looked at her sister and then at Dr. Grace. The elder woman seemed to be seething with barely controlled rage, the only time Neytiri had ever witnessed such anger, was when her father had to fight a man who had challenged his honor and ability to lead their clan. Regardless of her brimming fury, Dr. Grace pulled Sylwanin into a rough hug and tried to hush the young warrior's tears by whispering gentle nothings into her ear.

"Sylwanin, what happened to Ya'hira?" Dr. Grace asked, while she pulled out of the hug.

"She no longer draws breath," Sylwanin said simply. "Perhaps, she has found Eywa?"

After the question was uttered, it hung in the air until the words faded into the past. At this point and time, no answer given could properly restore the life that was taken, so none was offered.

Neytiri looked at here sister in stunned disbelief.  
_**  
Ya'hira had died?**_

It hardly seemed fathomable within the reaches of her young mind, but as little Neytiri scrutinized her sister more, the simple and horrible truth dawned on her. Mixed within the white warpaint were other colors, those which did not belong in the intricate designs. It was blood and some of it was red...

The missing color of the rainbow...

* * *

_**Breathe damn it!**_

He had to breathe, it was a necessity of life, but stale air was caught in his lungs and the lump in his throat was preventing him from expelling it. Though, if he reasoned with himself logically, he could understand the fundamental breakdown in bodily functions he was now experiencing, as the scene before him was so horrific in magnitude, that he had been woefully unprepared to bear witness to it.

He stood with his back resting against the flower-bearing boulder that he had been rounding just seconds before, using the mammoth stone to steady himself as he studied his surroundings. A scant heartbeat had passed since he had come upon the sight that he currently beheld and though he was trying to process things as quickly as possible, he was also still in motion. It was as if he had become a disembodied spectator in the drama of his own life. He was able to see everything in shockingly vivid detail and those details were what compelled him into action.

The sun was hot and its rays shown heavily down into the clearing. Norm did not properly recall where his Avatar had originally fallen, but he distinctly remembered that it was in an area of the jungle that had a denser canopy and dark pockets of shadows. It had certainly not been in this place, but regardless of that fact, his Avatar lay prone in the distance, oblivious to the world around it. He could see it was bleeding, though someone had attempted to stop the flow of the precious life-sustaining liquid, with a compress of leaves and swatches of torn cloth.

Near the body of the Avatar was an AMP Suit, the cockpit was open and unoccupied. The giant marionette stood twinkling in the sun, and its gunmetal-hued chassis appeared no worse for wear, though the rifle the machine carried was strewn against a scarred tree and seemed to be covered in viscous sap, which was leaking from the plant.

A Na'vi warrior also lay close to the same tree, the muscular form of the cyan-colored being did not move. Worse than that, the head of the warrior was cocked at an unnatural angle, amber eyes staring lifelessly into the sky.

But for all of this, there was an even more heinous sight awaiting Norm's unwilling eyes. He followed the sound of gibbering and thickly-accented English and he had to bite his cheek to stifle a grunt of fury. A female Na'vi warrior lay propped up, further down the same rock that Norm leaned against. A male member of RDA's SecOps forces had his back to Norm and had yet to notice him.

The RDA goon was busy with a hunting knife, using it to savagely cut away at the clothing which the female Na'vi wore.  
_**  
It was this!**_

This was the final injustice that kept Norman Spellman in motion. The man who had never dreamed of hurting a fly, who had been more keen on the idea of studying them, got down on one knee. He brought the rifle up to bear, the butt of the weapon resting against his shoulder. He flicked off the safety with a practiced ease that surprised him and pointed the barrel of the gun at the bloke who was just a few feet away.

"Hey ASSHOLE!" Norm yelled in a thunderous voice, which surprised even him. "Why don't you get off her and try picking on someone your own size!"

The unwitting man yelped, his head darted first right, then left, until his beady eyes focused on Norm. A steely smile formed on chapped lips, which were hidden behind the transparent protection of an emergency re-breather.

"Well'a'day, look-ee what we have here," the Neanderthal taunted. "Aren't you one of those science geeks from the Avatar program?"

The man cackled wildly at his supposed humor and continued on, without waiting for an answer to his question.

"What's up Nancy? You pulling a Sully? Huh? Been spending so much time with the Blue Monkeys, that yer fallin' in love with 'em?" The bald man sneered. "I heard Sully got a piece of ass and I wanted to see what all of the fuss was about. But if yer bent on givin' me shit, I s'pose I could just gut you first."

That was all Norm needed to hear. He jerked his index finger down over the trigger. The muzzle flashed with fire and bullets leapt from the gun. Those little metal cylinders of death flew with frightening accuracy and tore into the depraved maniac. Each shot made contact with the target. One bullet tore into his sternum with a grisly crunch, the wound made a sickeningly wet pop and started gushing thick streams of blood. A second bullet clipped his right shoulder and helped to propel him away from the girl. The third bullet made contact with the man during the downward arc of his fall, taking a meaty bite of his thigh.

The report of the rifle had a deafening effect on Norm. It was true that he had shot a gun before, but he had done so while in control of his Avatar body. During that time, it had been life or death, and while the situation was still just as dire now, the experience was somehow more ominous in his Human form.

Norm stared at the weapon in his hands in a minor state of shock. Before, he had been running with his comrades and firing wildly into the fray. He had not been able to track those shots or his accuracy. Therefore, he was not entirely sure if he had actually wounded anyone. Now, it was certain.

Though it had not transpired yet, Norman Spellman realized that he had taken a life. While contemplating this fact his palms became slick with sweat and he let the weapon fall free. It banged painfully against his abdomen, prevented from being discarded on the jungle floor by the rifle strap slung over his shoulder.

After a minute passed, the sounds of life came rushing back to his ears, attacking him in stark clarity. These sounds left him confused, as it was mainly laughter that he was hearing. He gazed at the man laying broken and bleeding in the dirt, as a look of genuine vexation crossed his face.

"W-what's so funny?" Norm asked with a trembling stutter.

It didn't make sense at all. The man was in he death throes, that much was obvious. Yet he laughed as if he had suddenly encountered the funniest thing in the world. It was insane and it unnerved the logical and fastidious doctor.

The bald man looked up at Norm, his beady eyes seemed to be swimming in a sea of confusion, as he struggled to maintain coherence during the last few moments in which he drew breath.

"I always s-said that n-n-nothing on Earth could kill me," the man said as he presented a bloody smile. "Y'all just proved me right."

Norm looked down at the man while feeling a sense of pity overcome him, as he bore final witness to this life. Whatever faults or evils tempered the Southerner, he was still a Human being. Because of that, Spellman was not able to completely distance himself and quickly searched his mind, hoping to find a way to make things easier in some small way.

"Do you have family?" Norm asked, unwilling to allow his emotions to betray him and slip into his voice.

"Some," came the dying man's hoarse reply.

"If I ever make it home, I'll see that they get your tags," Norm sighed. "And I'll lie about how you died."

There was a gurgle from the man, but no further reply came and Norm was thankful for that. He stared at the body for a moment and then walked over to it after gathering his resolve. Later, much later perhaps, in the dead of night, he would still struggle with the moral and ethical implications of what he had done. But there was no time for questions or doubts now, Norm knew this and swatted those nuisances away from the forefront of his mind like annoying horseflies.

He kneeled down in front of the man and tried to ignore the fact that blood was departing the dead body in copious amounts, while also trying not to notice that it was slowly seeping into the earth around the corpse, creating a fast-growing crimson halo. Norm reached over with a hesitant hand and closed the glassy eyes which now stared lifelessly into the heavens, with the heel of his palm.

He wanted to tend to the girl, to check on her and ascertain the state that she was in. But, he admitted to himself, that he was doing the cowardly thing by looking over the deceased SecOps soldier first. After the adrenaline that his nervous system was currently saturated with wore off, he would be unwilling to complete the tasks he was now currently engaged in and was apt to leave the body without handling it.

His hand then grabbed at the man's neck, fingers frantic in their search for the carotid artery. Norm's middle and index finger rested there for several seconds without even detecting the faintest hint of life, before the hand continued on, peeling away the soiled and bloody fatigue shirt that the man wore, in search of his dog tags. The tags, made entirely of silver, glinted festively in the sunlight. Norm's hand closed around the tags, enveloping them within his fist, he then yanked at them harshly and the chain to which they were connected broke free of the man's neck.

Norm stuffed the tags in the pocket of his trousers, and then swiftly moved away from the body without sparing it another glance.

The girl was more important now.

* * *

**Author's End Notes: **Another new chapter in hopes that this update is a little more timely. So far, this is one of the most interesting chapters I've written and in that respect, I hope I've made character reactions believable enough. To the reader that said Neytiri was lacking depth in previous chapters, I hope that this makes up for it. I wanted to continue writing, but it felt best to end things here. I've got more plans for the next chapter and hope that I can reconnect the newer chapters to the original prologue 'Through the Stars' within two or three more updates.

Before I rejoin Dr. Cho and events after 'The Oath,' I wanna cover the siege at Hell's Gate, the departure of the humans and Jake's rebirth. I hope my readers remain interested enough in those plot points, that they will continue reading. Also, I can't believe that it has almost been a year since I started this story. I apologize for the erratic updates, but I hope it has been worth it. I've neglected my other stories, for this one, based on the positive response.

Readers, get back to me and let me know what you think of the story. Should the Na'vi woman Norm saved be a major previously established character, or an Original Character, if the latter, then who? Let me know in your reviews, I'd love to hear from you. Happy Halloween, see you next time!


	5. A Warrior's Tale

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

* * *

**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** R

* * *

**A Warrior's Tale**

Neytiri had been gone for all of fifteen minutes before I started getting anxious. It wasn't because I was alone in a busted-up research bunker, mostly immobile due to my disability and surrounded by atmosphere which would kill me without the assistance of my re-breather. It wasn't because there was a dead body starting to rot outside, in the lush jungle of an alien satellite, nor was it the fact that I had killed that man which I had once respected. Most of all, I wasn't getting anxious because I was still sharing the bunker with a Navi-Human hybrid. A man who looked like me and who sat propped on a broken piece of gel mat, supposedly sleeping, but not _really_ sleeping. Because, without my mind, the otherwise healthy male warrior was an automaton with a fully functioning respiratory system.

What was making my anxious was the fact that I still did not know what the hell was going on in the world outside my little playpen. I had not heard from Norm, or Trudy, or Tsu'tey. I hadn't even heard from Neytiri, who was strangely silent. She usually chose to engage me in conversation while we were making use of the radios, as she enjoyed the magic of it all, like a kid in a candy store.

It was true that I hadn't tried contacting her, and though I was somewhat concerned by her muteness, I didn't feel the need to reach out to her yet. Chances were that she just wanted a few minutes on her own, it had been a helluva day after all. Maybe she was still trying to get everything sorted. It was the unknown status of the others that was causing me to stress.

I still didn't know why the hell Norm broke his link, and went traipsing out into the bush. If I had to make an educated guess, I'd say his Avatar was wounded and he went after it. But even so, the idea of him out and about, without an AMP Suit or extensive combat training did not sit well with me, and because of this I had resorted to spending the last two minutes cursing his name.

I had seen Rogue One take heavy fire from Quaritch's ship. I also know that it exploded in a ball of flames, but I was unwilling to give up on Trudy, because she had proven to me countless times while on Pandora, that she was a tough cookie, who didn't take shit from anyone.

Tsu'tey was yet another variable that plagued my mind. I hadn't heard from him for quite awhile either. I had lost contact with him in the midst of the battle as well. Though the bond that we had forged was tenuous at best, I still dreaded the idea of harm befalling him. Sure, there were times that I wanted to kick his ass, make him bleed, and wipe the smug superior smirk from his face. Especially during my first few weeks on Pandora. But those brief promises of pain were nothing compared to the genuine intent to kill that the RDA's SecOps soldiers boasted. They were not specifically after Tsu'tey's blood, that wanted a piece of all Na'vi, but by that respect all of my new friends and rivals were fair game.

Even so, I still found the fact that he had not shown up to boast his prowess in battle rather disquieting. He seemed to enjoy exploiting every chance he could get to belittle my attempts to bridge a connection between my people and his. At first, I had taken genuine offense to his behavior. But, the more I thought about it, the more that I realized that Tsu'tey did not owe me anything, that it was quite the opposite in fact, the Sky People and myself by extension owed him and his people.

The Na'vi had offered the Human race trust and friendship and we repaid their offering with violence and greed. It was a rift that was caused all because of a hunk of rock.. Well, more than a hunk... But regardless, when thinking of the entire situation in those terms, it really painted Earthlings in a pathetic light.

"If only there were some way..." I spoke aloud to nobody in particular.

Sometimes, in order to sort my thoughts, I had to talk. This habit was more pronounced even lately, most likely as a result of the video journals that Dr. Augustine had forced me to keep. Besides that, I was starting to get a little anxious again. Without my thoughts to distract me, the static from the radio started to sound eerie and ominous. It was as if the empty airwaves were speaking to me, promising me a malicious and frightful future...

"Goddamn overactive imagination," I muttered. "This is what I get for watching those old horror movies with Norm."

I tried to recall my previous thoughts, but it was like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. They eluded me with gleeful indifference to my desire to unearth them. Could it was the stress of the day? Was that was the reason I seemed to be a suffering from a severe lapse in the cerebral area?

I grunted in frustration, and tried to focus my efforts on something more tangible. There was no point in trying to engage the back-up power supply that the research bunker sported, as that would also engage the air purifiers and scrubbers that filtered the atmosphere and made it breathable, which would be useless, as the structure was no longer sealed. What I could do, was check the other POD units, to see if they were functional or not. But, even that would only be in an effort to kill time, as I could not use them with the bunker in its current state.

I was saved from my indecision by the most unlikely of events, as the computer signaled in its own gleefully indifferent and mechanical manner that I was receiving an incoming radio transmission. What left me puzzled for a minute, was the source of the transmission, as it was not on the same frequency that we had made use of during the battle. Besides that, the telemetry that scrolled across the screen indicated that the signal originated from within the vicinity of Hell's Gate.

"Shit..." I muttered, as a feeling of dread washed over me. I knew better than to expect good news, it was like my brother Tom had always told me, "you gotta pray for the best and expect the worst kiddo.." I had to admit, my impersonation of him was lacking. But, it stemmed from love. Though, the fact that he called me kiddo was an annoyance, considering that he had been born all of an hour earlier than I had, making him older by a hair.

Against my better judgment, I tapped the computer's touch screen and opened a link with the incoming signal. Better to face trouble head on, than to have it look for you while you've got your pants down.

"This is Sully," I said in way of a greeting. I was trying to sound gruff, calm and in charge. Though, I felt like it was all a lie.

"Jake? It's Max," came a garbled and tinny reply.

The transmission was bad because of the distance between both points. Blame it on the flux. Either way, I would not leave my fate in the hands of the planetary phenomenon, or luck for that matter. There was no video due to the weak signal strength, and because of this I had no way of knowing if I was really talking to Dr. Max Patel. For all I knew, it was some Comm Tech Jockey with a voice synthesizer and a small piece of intel that could put my friends in danger if I did not act with caution.

"Max, old buddy? How do I know it's you?" I asked with a hint of skepticism blatantly apparent in my voice.

"You don't, and all things considered, I know this call is a bit sketchy," came the reply. "But before you and the others left, you said you needed someone you could trust on the inside, so now I'm asking you to trust me, otherwise I'll have Trudy kick your ass, just like she did to that guard, who was after your steak dinner."

"As tempting as that sounds, I think I'll need a bit more proof." I searched my mind for a question that I could ask him, one that was precise enough that he'd have to give a specific answer, but vague enough, that nobody would know the answer, but the two of us.

"Remember the first day you met me?" I asked without and continued without waiting for an answer. "Grace was pissed, because she was convinced I had my head up my ass and wouldn't be able to hack it. I think it was my fault, because my boyish charm and good looks didn't win her over. But, either way, do you remember the advice you gave me?"

"Huh?... Um..." He hesitated, possibly while trying to recall the answer to my vague question, or shitting himself if he was an RDA Comm Tech. "Didn't I tell you to come back in the morning, and to use big words? I think that's it. And by the way, your vocabulary could still use a bit more polish."

Yeah, there he was, polite wit and just a slight touch of sarcasm, there was no faking the subtle mannerisms of his personality, nobody was that good on such short notice. Still, the fact that he was calling at all was troublesome in and of itself.

"How the hell did you get access to a comm channel?" I asked bluntly changing the subject. "Shouldn't they be on lockdown pretty tight over there right now, with everything that's going on?"

"Selfridge is freaking out, he got word from some of the airships fleeing the scene, that you guys were kicking some ass. Now he is using all of the available manpower here at the base to try and get everyone to regroup. He's also trying to find out where Quaritch is."

"Uhh... Well, don't tell Parker that I told you... But the Colonel is taking a dirt nap outside." I replied.

"Come again?" Max asked. "Quaritch is dead?"

"Yeah."

"We had our hopes, but it is good to hear them actually confirmed." Max said, after a particularly long squelch of static.

Through all of the background noise, I could tell he was tense, there was obviously something he was holding back. Which meant that it was probably something I wasn't going to like, as the man wasn't big on confrontation.

_**Boy, the day keeps getting better, and we haven't even made it to sunset yet.**_

"Alright Max, what's up?" I asked. "Something has you as nervous as I was the first time I met Neytiri's mother."

"Ahh... Neytiri? How're she and the others holding up? How're you for that matter?" Max asked, in way of reply.

It wasn't really the time for social pleasantries right now, and the fact that he was using them to avoid my questions was starting to irritate me.

"Neytiri's fine. I haven't heard from Norm or Trudy, they are both M.I.A. and I can't raise them on the radio. I think Norm's Avatar must've been wounded, because he disengaged his link and ran off into the jungle. But, I can't even go and find out, because the bunker is smashed to shit and rich with Pandoran atmosphere." I paused. "Now quit being so evasive and tell me why you're risking your ass to call me, while the whole damn base is after my blood."

I winced a little after I finished my tirade. I had raised my voice a bit, to make sure I was heard through my re-breather, as it had a bit of a muffling effect and the audio quality wasn't that good to begin with. But, I was afraid that I overdid things, because Max fell silent for several long minutes.

It was then, while I was waiting for him to speak, that I began to get uncomfortable once more. I was feeling anxious all over again. It was also too damn hot in the bunker. The heat was damp and sticky. It clung to me like a possessive lover and I realized that while it bothered me now, I had richly enjoyed the warmth of the day in my Avatar body.

_**Maybe that's why I'm so edgy...**_

Though I didn't want to admit it to myself, I came upon the realization that part of the reason I was so uneasy at the moment, was because I wasn't experiencing the world through the Na'vi-Human hybrid eyes of my Avatar. It was just me, plain old Jake Sully, with eyes no better than a pair of faded blue denim jeans. Contrary to my earlier thoughts, maybe I was a bit anxious due to my immobility. Maybe I really did wish that I could be free of this godforsaken wheel chair, running through the jungle on the strong legs of my alien counterpart.

"After you left, I started talking to people here. There were rumors flying about, people had questions and concerns." Max told me. "Quaritch and that weasel Parker tried to smooth things over for the most part. Miles gave a big speech about how it was us, against you savages, told us that we were fighting for the survival of the Human race. Most of the gun-toting morons got really gung-ho after that and were ready for blood, but I knew that there were people that were still having doubts, had been having them since the Hometree was destroyed."

"So?"

"Well, I met with a guy a little while ago, he seems very intent on taking control of Hell's Gate." Max said. "He's very adamant about proving to the Na'vi that he doesn't side with the RDA, or condone what they've done here."

"Okay."

Needless to say, I was shocked, I hadn't really expected to find more sympathizers within the bowels of that pseudo-military stronghold, especially none willing to make a stand. But I was still left with too many questions.

_**It's times like these that I miss being a soldier and just following orders...**_

"He's hoping to use the confusion of the battle to take the base, before SecOps has a chance to regroup." There was a pause, more hesitation on Max's part, likely meaning more bad news. "He has a pretty loyal group of men, they intend to begin the strike in roughly forty-five minutes."

"Seriously? What the hell?" I mumbled with a dash of ill-hidden doubt in my voice. "They honestly believe that any plan they can come up with on such short notice, will have a shot at success?"

Planning a tactical strike is never an easy task. Even with the best intel, equipment and sufficient prep time, there were always several problems that could arise. It was one reason that I always kept my plans simple and straight-forward. Less chance to muck it up, if you didn't over think it.

"I dunno what they believe, but I go know that they are intent on the timeline." Max informed me.

"Why'd you call me then?" I asked blatantly.

"As backup, an ace in the hole." Max answered.

Some ace, I felt more like a Joker pretending to be King. I was helpless, even with the battle here waning, there was no chance that I could successfully rally any sort of calvary to ride in and save the day. Even if they were somehow able to disengage the sentry guns that scanned the perimeter of the base, to allow an airborne attack, it still didn't look good. Finding Ikran that were well enough to make the flight, as well as warriors brave enough to fly towards another large-scale battle would be nigh impossible in such a short amount of time.

If asked years from now, when looking back on this day, I might be apt to reply that I had experienced a moment of epiphany. But at this point in time, it was more like I had caught lightning in a bottle, sealed it with a rubber cork, and was using it as one of those cartoon light bulbs that signaled an idea had formed.

"Max, there is some way we can help," I told him. "But you aren't going to like it."

* * *

Here and now, then and there. Neytiri the woman sat on the trunk of an old tree, clutching at thick clumps of moss as if they were a blanket that she could cocoon herself within. Tears fell silently from her pain-stricken eyes, glittered in the sun like diamonds while falling, then were absorbed into the moss after landing upon it.

Neytiri the girl, she was the focus of things, once again trapped within the schoolhouse that had become such a paradoxical part of her childhood. At times, the memories left her emotions fragmented, as depending on her mood, they could fill her with wonder and happiness one moment, or pain and despair the next.

Na'vi spiritual beliefs are a matter for the Tsahik, being the spiritual leader of the clan, they are the ones to decipher the meaning of events, the emotional impact of those events on the clan, as well as the best way to start the healing process. The Tsahik is taught to believe that all things on the planet are a part of Eywa and that within Eywa all things happen for a reason.

Since there is a reason for all things that happen within Eywa, Na'vi men and women should not dwell on painful events that take place, nor let the passing of those events fill them with sorrow, but rather mourn those lost only briefly, finding solace in the fact that they have been reunited with Eywa, then look toward the future with hope, while trying to discover the reason for which those unexpected events took place. The Tsahik is supposed to guide them along during this process, much like a caring mother guides her young children in the ways of life.

That knowledge in and of itself was something that gave Neytiri great pause, as Tsahik she would have to live by those principles, however she knew that she could not practice or teach principles that she did not fully believe in. As the event that pained her took place many years ago, during her childhood, she should've long since come to peace with the entire incident. But, it still troubled her deeply, and was sometimes known to cause her sleepless nights.

Bearing this in mind, how could she possibly uphold the traditions of Tsahik and guide her people as matron of the Omaticaya clan? In her mind, it was unfathomable, but this inconvenient truth was not at the forefront of her mind. Rather, memories from her past still held center stage...

Little Neytiri ignored her knuckles, which were taunt with pain, as they still gripped the edge of the overturned wooden desk. Her eyes were rapt on her sister and her teacher, as she peered at them, her head still peaking out from behind the makeshift barricade. Outside, the sounds that Dr. Grace had identified as gunfire had ceased for the moment, but not the shouts, or the cries of pain. Below her, the other students of the Sky People's school were huddled around her tightly, hugging each other desperately, trying to seek solace from the fear and confusion that was alive in the air like a heavy perfume.

She ignored the cries of her younger friends. She was stronger than them, braver than them. At least, she believed this to be so. It was for this reason that she did not hide behind the desk with her friends, or take A'tre'yu's hand even though he was silently offering it. Nor did she close her eyes in an attempt to squeeze out the world around her. Though later, she might wish that she had.

Her mind swirled around the facts which her sister had just relayed. Though she was still young and did not know much about the politics between her clan and the Sky People, she knew about battle. Sometimes at night, long after the dinner fires had dimmed to embers, the warriors of her clan would recount times of great battles long past. Mythical fights between good and evil, usually told either in song, or while drinking, these tame stories which started as fairy tales, grew into graphic and embellished accounts of battle.

There was blood and death. Love and guilt, anger and remorse. A hero and a villain. Though she was technically not allowed by her mother to sit and listen to these stories, her father would sometimes allow her to bear witness to the stories, while wrapped in a blanket at his side. While Neytiri's mother gave her father some leeway with the tales, he had been expressly ordered to take Neytiri to bed before things became too violent. Little Neytiri still pouted at this idea, as they were always forced to leave before the big battle that decided the tale took place. But later, while wrapped in her hammock, her father would tell her the moral of the story, so she could understand why the characters had acted in the manner in which they had.

But as her sister recounted the details of the battle, Neytiri could not see any purpose within the struggle, no moral to be learned from the dire circumstances. No point in the bloodshed. More than that, what troubled her was the idea that Ya'hira had died. The girl had been like an older sister to Neytiri, they had often played and swam together, especially during this past summer, as her sister Sylwanin had been too busy to do so.

"Sister! What happened to Ya'hira? Where is she?" Neytiri asked impulsively. "Did you tell father about this?"

Her voice echoed loudly in the otherwise tense and quiet schoolhouse. Two pairs of eyes turned to look at her quickly, both with a look of surprise and concern. They had not expected the young Princess to be a part of their conversation, and were obviously taken aback by her sudden intrusion. The older sister Sylwanin stepped forward hesitantly, her hands which had been nervously fisted near her navel moved up, unclenched, and proceeded to wipe budding tears from her eyes.

Dr. Grace apparently had another idea. Upon seeing Neytiri eavesdropping, her face morphed into a tight scowl, which further transformed into a frown.

"Neytiri, I told you to hide behind the desk," Dr. Grace scolded. "You get back behind there now, I've got to talk to your sister, figure this shit out... Hell, I need to go and deal with the SecOps dumbasses outside too."

There was more behind the attentive eyes of the doctor. A boiling fire, something she had heard described in the after dinner songs as a warrior's spirit. This was her first real-life glimpse of that otherwise mythical strength that it was said all great protectors had. Dr. Grace turned toward the door of the schoolhouse, still closed tightly as if to hold the Nantang's at bay, and began striding toward it with meaningful intent.

Meanwhile, Neytiri had shifted focus away from her teacher, back to her sister once more. The older girl had finished wiping her tears and had outstretched her arms to beckon her younger sibling into a hug. Neytiri loosened her grip on the wooden desk and turned to walk toward her sister, when the otherwise peaceful schoolhouse was drawn into the battle.

The door was thrust open and a large burst of sunlight flooded the room. The door slammed against the wall of the schoolhouse with a reverberating crash and a loud grunt could be heard coming from outside. A man stepped inside the schoolhouse and stood on the threshold, silhouetted by light as her sister had been moments earlier, though the man was much shorter than she was.

He wore the strange clothing of the Sky People, fabrics woven with patches of green and black, tan and yellow and he was covered from the neck down in the strange material. His feet were clad in heavy black things that Neytiri used to think of as hooves, but she had come to know that they were called boots. His skin was a pale pinkish white, his hair a strange yellowish color. His face was hidden behind a transparent mask, which Neytiri knew allowed him to breathe. Though he appeared to be older, obviously an adult by Sky People measure, he was practically the same height at Neytiri, who was but a child.

"Dr. Augustine, by order of SecOps command_, _I am required to insist that you stand down," the alien man bellowed into the school. "The girl in the warpaint is to be detained and brought back to HQ."

He gestured at Neytiri's older sister with an alien-looking object that was as black as night, and clutched in both of his hands with harsh intent. Neytiri had seen this before, it had been retrieved by scouting parties. Her father called it a bow of the Sky People.

"On what charge?" Dr. Grace demanded.

"Sabotage and attempted murder," the man replied.

What happened next, happened very quickly, had Neytiri closed her eyes to take a deep breath or two, she would've missed all that transpired. Sylwanin turned toward the visitor, and bellowed with rage. One of the hands that had been outstretched for a hug clenched into a fist at her side, while her other arm flew up, finger pointed in accusation at the man.

"He was the one! The one that killed Ya'hira," Sylwanin cried in rage.

Suddenly, she moved forward in a run, though her back was now to the desk, Neytiri could tell that her fisted hand had moved to unsheathe the ceremonial hunting knife which she carried. Then it all happened. Another one of the Sky People moved to join the first in the doorway, Dr. Grace cried out, imploring everyone to stop, she tried to get between Sylwanin and the Sky People in the doorway, but even as she moved it was too late.

The second man in the doorway, which had joined the first only a heartbeat before, raised his bow up to point it at Sylwanin. Fire flashed from the tip with a sudden burst, jolting the man and throwing him back against the door jamb. Off-balance, another volley of fire ignited from the tip of the black bow. Neytiri could not see the arrows, they were too small, and traveled too quickly for her eyes to follow, but she bore witness to the damage the caused.

Her sister Sylwanin was thrown back with great force, as if rammed by an Angtsik and fell against the desk with a harsh crack and a desperate cry of pain. Neytiri had very little time to register this, as she instinctively dropped down to hide behind the desk. Above her head, something small buzzed passed the space it had just occupied, and slammed into the slate blackboard with a hallow clap. Stone chips flew, and pelted Neytiri's back with a stinging bite.

It was at that point, that dizziness started to overtake her, she was told that she must have bumped her head against the wooden desk, but that idea was little comfort to Neytiri the woman. She remembered passing out with little more than a few scratches, while he sister lay dying, only to wake and find her already gone.

But there were frantic words which followed her into the oblivion of that dreamless sleep.

"Goddamn it Wainfleet, you idiot, nobody told you to fire."

There was the sound of sobbing, heart-wrenching tears, little Neytiri remembered wondering why Dr. Grace was crying...

"Neytiri? Neytiri, are you there?" A voice called to her through a squelch of static.

It was this voice that drew Neytiri the woman back to herself and to the present. Her fingers had dug into the moss, down into the soil and her cheeks were streaked with tears. Her throat was hot and as she gasped for fresh air, she knew her throat was painful due to the wretched moans which she had let loose.

_**Sylwanin, my beloved sister, rest with Eywa... I must see to the living...**_

"Yes Jake, I am here with you..." Neytiri responded, her throat still hoarse with emotion, as she pressed the button on the collar around her neck, which would allow them to communicate.

"Neytiri... We have a problem..."

* * *

**Author's End Notes: **I had hoped to have this latest installment out in time to mark the release of the Collector's Edition copy of Avatar, but with my hectic schedule, such was not the case. Then, I hoped for Thanksgiving, but had little luck there as well. I've been too busy with work, home life, video games, and great television shows (check out 'The Walking Dead' - if you are a zombie fan). I also spent my last day off engrossed in the Collector's Edition on Blu-Ray. Capito Celcior left a review about my characterization of Parker Selfridge. Capito, much to your point, I did see the Blu-Ray, and while Parker's motivations in the deleted scene show him having second thoughts, I hardly think that those stemmed from a sudden change of heart. I will address that scene in a later chapter, in a way that is in line with my own characterization. I hope you stick around to check it out and give me your opinion. This chapter, and the previous one are to give Neytiri a bit more depth, as people have said that she seemed a bit lacking before. I hope this makes up for that. For those of you that are waiting, the next chapter will deal with Norm and Hell's Gate. As always, I hope you enjoyed reading, please review and let me know what you think. I read every review, it helps with my writing process. Now, if only I could find the time to update my other stories. Happy Holidays! - Beta? Drop me a line.


	6. Through The Stars

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

* * *

**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** PG

* * *

**Through the Stars**

.:Data Stream Open:.

.:Transmission Data Status: Highly Encrypted and Compressed. Limited To Text Only. :.

.:Transmission Origin: Alpha Centauri Star System - Transmission Mode: Civilian Sub-light Channel. :.

.:Transmission Origin Continued: Signal Originates From Pandora – Seventh Moon Orbiting Planet Polyphemus. :.

.:Personal Log: Sully, Jake T. :.

.:Classification: Na'vi/Human Hybrid. :.

.:August 26th, 2154 - Terran Calendar. :.

Personally, I don't know why the hell I am doing this. I suppose it is mainly because Spellman talked me into it and while I do not process things like his analytical mind does, I can see the logic behind it.

It is safe to assume that the RDA has ordered a total media blackout, hoping to conceal the massacre that they brought upon the Na'vi people. By maintaining this log and sending regular sub-light transmissions through civilian channels, Spellman thinks we can raise awareness of what happened during the expedition here. Perhaps the people of Earth will hold the perpetrators accountable for their crimes, but I think that hoping for such is overly optimistic. Either way, Spellman, the remaining humans and I will all begin making recordings.

Whether or not my Na'vi brothers or sisters will accept it, the RDA will be back. To think otherwise would be delusional. Though we cast away the initial colonists, there are more ships scheduled to arrive over the next few months. While some of the missions may be scrapped, the vessels recalled, I know in my heart that we will have to face the RDA again.

Luckily when we exiled the original expedition back to their ship the ISV Venture Star, their resources were severely limited, meaning their only recourse was to re-enter cryosleep and return to Earth. But more will be coming, they will descend like locust onto Pandora and we'll need to be ready.

We won our last battle for the Tree of Souls by the grace of Eywa, we had the advantage of surprise, and the courage of Palulukans, but our victory came at a heavy price. We paid for it in blood. 850 Na'vi died, as well as Trudence Chacon, Dr. Grace Augustine, and countless plants and animals. May their souls rest with Eywa.

We have started the healing process by caring for our sick and wounded, our other main concern for the moment is burying the dead and mourning their passing, in hope that their energy will be reborn into the world as new life.

Though the wounds to this planet and its people are still deep, life will continue through resilience and perseverance. I have learned so much from the Na'vi, they are my people now and while I embrace their way of life with open arms, I recognize that we will have to fight to protect it.

I am Jake Sully, sixth Toruk Makto of the Na'vi people, sending this message to all Terrans. The Na'vi will not be bought, silenced, or subjugated. We will protect Pandora from those who cannot see the grace of Eywa.

.:Transmission Ends:.

The OLED screen on the data-pad indicated that the transmission was uploaded successfully onto the mainframe that Dr. Max Patel was able to reconfigure from parts available at Hell's Gate. Though the RDA compound is now abandoned, most of the technology remains intact, as well as the sparse equipment and supplies that have not yet been transferred to our new Kelutral, as the ritual surrounding habitation of the hometree has not yet been completed.

Neytiri is anxious to settle there among the branches, and I find myself eagerly anticipating it as well, as it is the one place that I have found the warmth and companionship of home. For the time being, we have settled in the caves around the Tree of Souls, as it gives the Omaticaya a sense of security they have lacked since the battle with Colonel Quaritch.

Neytiri and I are nestled in a hammock weaved from the fragrant vines of a plant with violet blossoms, both she and Spellman would scold me for forgetting its proper name, which is suspended from a small tree just alongside the rest of the Na'vi camp. I can hear her rhythmic breathing, and feel the warmth of her body next to mine, and it soothes me in a way I never thought possible.

The sounds of the night are many, each animal and insect with a distinct song and voice of its own, and while I have learned to identify most of them with reasonable clarity, it is her voice that I will never forget.

"What troubles you Jake?" Neytiri asks me in English.

"Thoughts of the future," I answered her far more cryptically then I had intended.

Though her words are heavily accented, and thick with sleep, she speaks flawlessly, and my ears have become attuned to her voice.

"Tslam tsni krr lams kawng txo kamen fa txopu," Neytiri told me, "lu tsteu ulte lonu fi'u txele lonu, sla nume ne min tsa'u txe'lan a oe kame na lor fte aynga tsakrr tsa'a ningay tse'a ngar fya'o."

I say nothing at first, and this does not trouble her, she only turns to look at me with her beautiful almond-shaped amber eyes, they are luminescent and inquisitive and sometimes it seems as if she can see into the depths of my soul with nothing more than a casual glance.

"Is that Na'vi poetry?" I asked her with a witty smile.

"No," she responded with a matter-of-fact tone. "It means that the future will always seem frightening, but you should not let it trouble you, just be brave and trust in your heart to show you the way."

She sees the data-pad in my hand, and hisses at it in annoyance. Though I was not expecting it, I do not resist when she snatches the device from my hand, and tucks it into our bag hanging beside the hammock.

"How do you expect to sleep if you allow your mind to become clouded with thoughts of the Sky People?" She asks me softly.

"Poorly, I guess."

In response to my dry sense of humor she whipped my stomach playfully with her tail, and I am put to ease by her beauty and charm. It is then that I cast away all thought, and only live within the moment. Our hands and bodies become intertwined and we drift off to sleep, both heedless of the myriad of stars that twinkle above our heads like celestial fireflies.


	7. The Forage's Reap

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

* * *

**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** PG

* * *

**The Forage's Reap**

.:Data Stream Open:.

.:Transmission Data Status: Highly Encrypted and Compressed. Limited To Text Only. :.

.:Transmission Origin: Alpha Centauri Star System - Transmission Mode: Civilian Sub-light Channel. :.

.:Transmission Origin Continued: Signal Originates From Pandora – Seventh Moon Orbiting Planet Polyphemus. :.

.:Personal Log: Sully, Jake T. :.

.:Classification: Na'vi/Human Hybrid. :.

.:August 27th, 2154 - Terran Calendar. :.

Though I've spent a great deal of time in my body during the Avatar Program, inhabiting it without a computer-aided connection is a totally different matter. Before, while connected within the POD, there was always a little feeling of disorientation. I had the feeling of being split, inhabiting two places at once. Though RDA research and development scientists may try to deny it and claim that no such connection issues are possible, I'm telling you that they are. This feeling was most pronounced each time I was forcibly disconnected during my POD-link and I became very aware of it during my battle with Colonel Miles Quaritch, when he breached the hull of the research structure my POD inhabited and the alien atmosphere started to poison my then human lungs.

Since I've transferred my consciousness into my Avatar with the help of the Omaticaya and the blessing of Eywa, I've been able to fully appreciate the splendor of the Na'vi body. Their senses are far superior to those of the average human. Hearing, sight, smell and sense of touch are much more precise than that of the Terrans.

Spellman thinks I am biased, but I know the truth. To breathe with Na'vi lungs, to feel my pulse race and my heartbeat quicken, is to know the natural strength of my new body. He cannot see, feel, taste, or touch things through the link in the same manner that I do now. I can sense the energy and life around me. The song of the wind passing through the leaves now holds more meaning to me than it ever did before.

I do not expect Terrans to understand this the way I do, nor do I anticipate that it will matter much to them. Though as a Human I was more technologically advanced than I am as a Na'vi, I've gained an understanding of nature and life that most Human eyes cannot ascertain.

Mo'at is the spiritual leader of the Omaticaya, she is a powerful and graceful woman who knows more than she alludes to, and I have learned much from her during my time on Pandora. Often she speaks in riddles, sometimes only providing bits and pieces of the bigger picture, then allowing you to fill in the blanks for yourself. When I first met her, she told me that the Omaticaya would do the best they could to cure my of my insanity, at the time I thought her to be naive, unintelligent, and brash. However, now I can grasp the insanity which she speaks of.

To live, consume, and conquer without regard to other forms of life is insanity. To try and force your way of life and mindset onto others is depraved.

.:Transmission Ends:.

Though it is just past the wee hours of the morning, Neytiri has already left on a foraging expedition with some of the younger members of the clan. They are hoping to return with herbs and berries which will help provide sustenance and heal some of the elderly left within the Omaticaya.

I am sitting high above the jungle floor, my feet dangling carelessly from the branches of the same tree that Neytiri and I had hung our hammock from the night before. Below me, the people of the Omaticaya were busy with their morning tasks. Though some were still slumbering, most were preparing breakfast, rearing their children, conversing with their peers, or weaving various things.

Each and every one of them had lost something when the hometree was destroyed, family heirlooms and trophies from battles previously won, ceremonial clothing and jewelry, but most importantly family and loved ones. However the strength of the Na'vi is their ability to adapt to changes in life and the wilderness and continue to thrive. They take comfort from the knowledge that the spirits of the people lost will find a place with Eywa, that no life truly ends, it only continues by other means.

The laughter of children chasing woodsprites in the meadow below me and songs from the river where warriors are bathing are part of the melody of life for the clan, though I am not currently engaged with them in conversation or other forms of companionship, I do not mind. I'm hungry, but not dreadfully so, and am content to set here and try to relax a little. Am I crazy for doing so? Maybe, but sitting quietly helps me to think more clearly.

Though things are progressing smoothly for everyone, the logistical side of rebuilding the clan has yet to be ironed out completely. Then there is the question of what will happen to Spellman and the rest of those left behind. Though they have rations and water to last for a few months, their supply is not unlimited and plans will have to be made for their care, or for their self-efficiency. I have been trying to sort everything out, but I've never been much of a deep thinker, I usually tend to act first and then question later. Things have changed though, and I no longer have the luxury to charge through life without a plan.

Mo'at seems to believe that with the deaths of Eytucan and Tsu'tey, Neytiri and I are best suited to lead the clan. Though I sympathize with her in terms of needing to appoint new leaders, the idea of becoming one of them has me scared shitless. I'm a grunt, someone who does the dirty jobs, the ones that nobody else can stand to do, not the type of person to take charge and tell others to do them.

Before, in the heat of battle, I lead the clan because a fierce warrior was needed, someone who could symbolize courage in the face of fear, and defiance in the eyes of oblivion. I stepped up to the challenge because I had to, because nobody else could, not because I wanted to.

"Damn" I muttered to myself.

Let's be serious, who in their right mind wants to be responsible for the fate of an entire clan of people? It is a burden that should not be undertaken lightly, or without serious thought. The fate of hundreds of lives would rest upon my shoulders, each decision I make could have an adverse impact on who lives and who dies. I'm not the type of guy to overindulge in melodrama, but all of this crap is seriously giving me a headache.

Even more troubling to me is the thought that many members of the clan look at me as if I am a walking legend, a bonafide hero or some akin to a knight. The Na'vi do not record their history in great journals, or chronicles of the written word. They tell stories and sing songs. While some people may look at this method as archaic or verbose, I find it to hold more magic and insight then traditional modes of Human education.

Lately, their songs have turned me into a bit of a recluse, as they have focused on the trials of the great and powerful Jakesully, who was transformed from a blind Dreamwalker into the Toruk Makto of the Omaticaya. Jakesully the man whose strength knows no equal and who conquered the metal giant Quaritch with a cunning sense of wisdom and a powerful bow. Never mind that it was Neytiri who took the final shots and saved my life, to them I was the hero.

It's unnerving to me and I wanted to correct them regarding the proper series of events, Neytiri convinced me to hold my tongue, knowing that while they already had something to believe in with Eywa, they needed the tale of a powerful warrior to inspire their strength. She did not aspire to the title and happily declared that I was stuck with it.

What joy...

Thunderous hooves roused me from my thoughts, as well as the cry of returning scouts, I heard Neytiri's call among them and my pulse ran cold. Her voice was strong, but tense, something had happened.

I opened my eyes and was on my feet in the space of a heartbeat, the rough bark of the tree branch I had settled upon was coarse under my feet, but I still welcomed the sensation with a manic sense of glee. It was better than feeling nothing at all.

Below me was a trio of direhorses, each with a Na'vi mounted upon them, all six beings communicating in tandem thanks to tsahaylu. Neytiri was in the lead with her bow slung across her back and her eyes alive with urgency. Between the other two horses a makeshift gurney had been fashioned, the body of a Na'vi warrior lay prone upon it.

The dewy mist which hung in the early morning air obscured my view of the man, but from what I could tell he was a warrior and had been covered with the silk leaf of a sek'ra blossom, the silk leaf acted as a natural blanket, large enough to cover the man fully and keep him comfortable.

I judged the distance to the ground to be well over forty feet, but I was not daunted by such a small challenge. A vine fell from the leafy upper canopy, to the lush bluish-emerald ground below, just five feet in front of me. With little more than a passing thought and a deep breath I jumped from the tree branch, my left arm outstretched to grasp the vine.

I caught it successfully in the upward arc of my jump, wrapped my legs and tail around it to better stabilize my center of gravity and slid down. Mere seconds later I disengaged myself from the vine, fell three feet and landed in a crouch upon the forest floor.

Neytiri and her party had already moved past my location, heading for the Tree of Souls, I turned to follow them, running as quickly as my legs could carry me. With luck I would be able to close the distance between us, as they would have to slow their gallop to allow a pathway to clear. Na'vi which had previously been engaged in the start of a new day, now scattered to allow the direhorses passage, though they appeared somewhat dismayed in their wake. Perhaps they were afraid as I was, I didn't have time to hazard a guess. Neytiri was my only concern.

She appeared to be uninjured, but there was no telling what the hell had happened to them out there. Anything was possible, they could've encountered a mine, an IED, or some other type of unspent ordinance.

Who knows what the hell the RDA left strewn about?

But it could've even been something much more innocent. A random encounter with a hungry beast, or even a bit of rowdiness gone extremely wrong.

As I ran, I prayed to Eywa that nothing sinister had taken place.


	8. Return from the Wild

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

* * *

**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** PG

* * *

**Return from the Wild **

.:Data Stream Open:.

.:Transmission Data Status: Highly Encrypted and Compressed. Limited To Text Only. :.

.:Transmission Origin: Alpha Centauri Star System - Transmission Mode: Civilian Sub-light Channel. :.

.:Transmission Origin Continued: Signal Originates From Pandora – Seventh Moon Orbiting Planet Polyphemus. :.

.:Personal Log: Sully, Jake T. :.

.:Classification: Na'vi/Human Hybrid. :.

.:August 27th, 2154 - Terran Calendar. :.

Well, this is my second entry for the day. Spellman told me not to limit the number of entries made into this log and I suppose that it comforts me in some way to know that my words will be read millions of miles away, by Humans on Earth. I don't usually do this and I promise not to make a habit of it, because I feel that having a one-sided conversation is kind of eerie, but it is my hope to try and make you all understand the Na'vi a little better and by doing so, create peace between our people.

Take a minute and try to remember your life when you were a kid. The sense of wonder and excitement you felt at experiencing something new and exciting. Whether it was taking your first laps in a swimming pool, your first VR Immersion session with your favorite game, or even your first time riding a hover bike. Do you remember how it felt? The rush it gave you? The way your pulse pounded?

Now, consider the Na'vi, because whether you like to admit it or not, our two species are quite similar. The only differences besides the physical ones, is that Humans covet science and technology, while the Na'vi have embraced nature and life. While running in the forest, riding on the back of a direhorse, traipsing through the jungle basin during the hunt, or soaring through the clouds with an ikran and feeling what the great winged creature feels through tsaheylu, the Na'vi experience the same sense of wonder and excitement that Humans do. It is no different. We are no different.

However you may attempt to justify the pillage of Pandora, know that you are also destroying a way of life that is sacred to the Na'vi people and not much different than our own way of life used to be. I still remember the old stories, the holo-vids and text files. I know how the Earth used to be. It was lush with greenery and life. Now it is nothing more than a massive expense of concrete jungles and glass spires. What plant life is left is limited to designated park areas, wildlife preserves and food growth factories. Animals are kept in zoos and exhibits. When we lose another species, we justify the loss with the knowledge that we have kept its DNA and Genome on file, in hopes of recreating it again some day.

Doesn't that strike you as insanity? I used to be one of you. I used to be blind to the world around me. But now I see life with a keener eye than I ever did before. Please, wake up before it is too late. There is still time to change. There is still a chance if communal efforts are made. Do not look to the stars as something to conquer for resources or land, do not be blinded by envy. Remember the wonder of exploration, and the value of all life.

.:Transmission Ends:.

My legs flew across the forest floor with a speed that I had only recently gotten used to, every footstep landing with a lithe and fluid grace that I had never known before. I jumped over rocks and bulging roots with ease, and still lagged behind the direhorses.

Though I did not know all of the details of what had taken place, my mind came alive was a myriad of different possibilities and scenarios. By nature I am not a cynical person, but with time I have learned that life had a tendency to try and keep hitting you while you're down. This was certainly one of those times. What remained of the clan was scattered and busy trying to rebuild, more death and hardship could only have a negative impact on those efforts.

I tried to quell my dark thoughts and worrisome emotions with the hope that I was somehow overreacting, that the situation was not as grave or drastic as I had interpreted it to be, it didn't help much. They were still there, but I made an effort to push them to the back of my mind and concentrate on the matters at hand.

I reached the clearing where the direhorses had ceased their gallop as swiftly as night falls upon the jungle, but by then the riders had already broken tsaheylu and dismounted. More troublesome was the fact that a crowd had started to gather around the party in a rough crescent shape. My view was obstructed and I could not see much past the crowd, except for the pearly luminescence of the Tree of Souls which grew in the distance.

I could see Mo'at and another woman approaching from the vicinity of the great tree, moving quickly to meet Neytiri and those who had returned with her. The Omaticaya in front of me stood rapt, taken in by events that were unfolding before their eyes. There were no words, only a soft humming sound which emanated from some of the elders. Perhaps it was meant to calm the crowd or quiet them, while there was still other noises present, they were quickly dying down.

Neytiri was somewhere ahead of me and while I could not see her, I was desperately trying to seek her out to ensure that she was safe, though even that pleasure was denied me. The crowd was growing larger by the minute and I was beginning to become frustrated with the onlookers. While their concern may be justified, their curiosity was not helping the situation by any means.

Though I could not see her arrival through the throng, I knew Mo'at had come upon those who had returned to camp and was trying to get a better handle on the situation, because even the gentle humming which had been emanating through the crowd had stopped upon her arrival. The Na'vi people hold a profound reverence for Mo'at, as she is the one who interprets the will of Eywa and sees the world with more depth than most Na'vi.

"Children of Eywa! Hear my words and return to your previous engagements!" Mo'at's voice echoed through the crowd in the most proper form of Na'vi I have ever heard. "Peace is needed in order to heal the body and spirit, grant this warrior that honor!"

My Na'vi ears heard her words and translated them to English with little effort. The rest of the Omaticaya heard Mo'at as well and started to disperse as quickly as they had began to assemble. In truth, after learning more about them in regards to their communal nature and heritage, I can better understand why the pain and hardship of another living creature would affect them so deeply.

As bodies trudged off from the massive group, I was able to gain a better vantage point and see what was happening. Neytiri had cast aside her bow and was fully focused on the words of her mother. She appeared to be uninjured, but was obviously quite distraught with the situation.

Since Mo'at's plea, more bodies had began to peel away from the crowd, including Neytiri's foraging companions, one of whom jumped onto Neytiri's mount and sped back off into the jungle, probably to rendezvous with the rest of the original party that they had departed with, and accompany them back to the camp.

The makeshift gurney had been removed from the backs of the remaining direhorses and the animals had wandered away to a nearby stream to graze. Neytiri, her mother and the other Na'vi elder were huddled around the gurney which now rested on a soft bed of grass.

Mo'at and Gee'ma were conversing very rapidly, some of the words I did not recognize, other bits and pieces of the slang I did. They were quite concerned with the condition of the warrior who lay very still on the gurney. Though they had only allowed their hands to rest above different areas of his body, it had allowed them to somehow diagnose the extent of his injuries.

Gee'ma, the other Na'vi elder, had spent her life serving as the equivalent of a nurse and midwife, and while her knowledge of herbs and medicine was not as great as that of Mo'at, her presence was still helpful. Her features were delicate and soft, she appeared to be a few years older than Mo'at, but still just as vital and vibrant as the Tsahik. Her eyes were a deep burgundy which almost reminded me of whiskey. Unlike Mo'at's red robes, Gee'ma wore a bright shade of blue which matched the beads that she had woven into her hair and while her presence was just as commanding, she stood almost two heads shorter than Mo'at.

I came up behind Neytiri and crouched beside her. Perhaps she sensed my approach before we made eye contact, as her tail sought out mine, intertwining together. She was distressed and seeking comfort. I placed my hand onto her shoulder and tried to convey reassurance without words.

I was not yet comfortable enough with the Na'vi language to hold every conversation in their native dialect and as I gazed upon the still covered body of this man, I knew that now wasn't the time to make an attempt.

"Neytiri, what happened?" I asked while focusing on her face. "Was someone injured?"

She turned her gaze upon me and I was taken aback to see her eyes awash with such worry.

"We were foraging for grooba berries, those that look like your blueberries and we heard a cry in the distance." She told me in English, pausing for a moment to gather her words. "It was faint, very weak and desperate, but when we tracked it to the source, we discovered him resting inside the hollow of a tree."

I turned to look at the man who they had finally uncovered and set to work on. His body was covered with plasma burns and lacerations, I could also see gunshot wounds. He was respiration was faint and came in ragged gasps and when I looked at his face, it was then that my breath caught in my throat.

It was _**Tsu'tey.**_


	9. A Dire Dilemma

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

* * *

**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** PG

* * *

**A Dire Dilemma **

.:Data Stream Open:.

.:Transmission Data Status: Highly Encrypted and Compressed. Limited To Text Only. :.

.:Transmission Origin: Alpha Centauri Star System - Transmission Mode: Civilian Sub-light Channel. :.

.:Transmission Origin Continued: Signal Originates From Pandora – Seventh Moon Orbiting Planet Polyphemus. :.

.:Personal Log: Sully, Jake T. :.

.:Classification: Na'vi/Human Hybrid. :.

.:August 27th, 2154 - Terran Calendar. :.

Training as a Marine and living through numerous war zones, skirmishes and combat situations hardens you a great deal to the rest of the world. You are used to disconnecting from your emotions and acting merely on instinct. When you are trudging through the mud of some god-forsaken swamp in a tropical country that you'd just learned about moments before you jumped from a plane and pulled the ripcord on your parachute, only to land in the thick of the bush, you learn to be ready for anything.

You pretend to yourself that you're hard, strong as steel and nothing can touch you. You tell yourself that living without feeling makes you a better man and you convince yourself that it is true. Then, pretty soon, you're not pretending anymore. You are living without emotion, you view the world in a haphazard manner, through eyes that used to see in Technicolor but now only perceive things in murky shades of gray.

Maybe that is what happened to Colonel Quaritch, at this point I can only speculate, but maybe when he started out he was a different man. Maybe he had been a good man at some point, almost assuredly so, perhaps living through so much violence and conflict warped him into the person that tried to kill me by playing dirty.

I'm not very philosophical, never really had the patience for it, but there is a proverb that always stuck with me. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. That, my friends, may be the most apt statement I've ever heard and I've found the truth of it in life. Maybe Colonel Quaritch had good intentions when he came to Pandora. Maybe he wanted to help his people to survive, flourish and continue on with their way of life. But because he had hardened his heart so much to the world around him and he had cut himself off from his emotions to be a better soldier, he became indifferent to the plight of the Na'vi.

Perhaps it was just another notch on his belt, another mission to log, another challenge to conquer. Maybe he had meant well, for his own people. But that does not excuse him from his actions. It doesn't excuse anyone who was exiled from Pandora for their actions. Good intentions for your own people, does not justify the massacre or genocide of another. Hell, while we are at it, someone tell Parker Selfridge that a good quarterly earnings statement for his shareholders isn't a good reason either. I hope both men are comforted by their good intentions and business motivations when it comes time for them to return their energy to whichever great spirit they belong to. I'll pray to Eywa that their punishment isn't too severe.

I don't mean to preach or pretend to be perfect, far from it. I am just a man, a living being. I've got faults. I've got fears. I've known jealousy, hatred, greed and envy. But what separates me from the likes of Quaritch and Selfridge is the fact that I've learned to deal with my emotions, both the good and the bad ones. I did not cut myself off from them, or try to lock them away in some clandestine corner of my psyche, I've lived with them each and every day.

Trust me when I say it was hard. Hard as hell. After losing my ability to walk, after losing my brother Tom, I wanted to shutdown my feelings and run on autopilot for awhile. And while I was sitting there, watching my brother's remains turn to ash during the cremation process, I saw the assignment to Pandora and the Avatar Program that I was being offered a commission into as a chance to forget the past, run on instinct and start my life over again.

The irony is that I got more than I had bargained for. More than I had ever imagined. I got new legs and a new life. My feelings ran rampant and I became more than a Marine, I became a Na'vi warrior. To tell you the truth, being a Na'vi warrior is much easier than being a Marine, because as a warrior of the Omaticaya, you do not have to forsake your conscience or emotions for the sake of the job.

Maybe I betrayed the Humans when I sided with the Na'vi, but I could not deny my conscience, or the blessings Eywa had given me without any strings attached. Colonel Quaritch may have offered to fix my legs, but the gift of the Omaticaya was greater than that. The Na'vi fixed my heart.

.:Transmission Ends:.

To say that I was shocked, stunned, or surprised would be the biggest understatement of the last century. I watched the pained expression on the angular face of Tsu'tey as he lay unconscious on the makeshift gurney and was baffled at his presence there. For all intents and purposes the ragtag Na'vi hunting and rescue parties that were sent into the wilderness to locate survivors counted Tsu'tey as Missing in Action, though they had not coined the particular term, the end assumption was the same.

Of the 2,000 strong Na'vi that went to war, 850 died and over 500 more suffered various wounds. The influx of the dead and the wounded in such massive amounts was something that the Na'vi were not used to. Though battles had been fought between clans in the past, they were limited to smaller engagements, that did not result in such a large number of causalities. Moreover, the amazing thing is that each Na'vi war party would regularly include a lesser shaman who would oversee the blessing and burial of each fallen body. With so many dead to bury and wounded to treat, this system became taxed beyond its limits and Omaticaya as well as representatives from other clans were left with a daunting task they had never faced before.

Dr. Max Patel spent a brief stint considering a career in Emergency Room medicine, and worked several shifts at Our Lady of Angels hospital in Neo New York City, where he was used to a barrage of different tasks and where chaos was abound in plenty. Because of this, he was able to help spearhead the treatment of the wounded, some of which still lay in a camp of tents in our settlement here at the Tree of Souls. Furthermore, with Spellman's geological knowledge, he was able to help streamline the burial process by locating the softest patches of land in the immediate area near the Tree of Souls, which would cut down the time needed during the burial process, as the graves could be readied more quickly with less physical labor.

But obviously there was some failing in the area of Search and Rescue, as nobody who was sent out to look for survivors was able to locate Tsu'tey. The idea that they had missed him, that he was out there wounded and almost helpless irked me to no end, but now was not the time to lay blame, now is the time to determine the extent of his wounds and render treatment.

While I was busy wool-gathering, the rapid murmurs of Mo'at and Gee'ma became more frantic and distressed. Neytiri was quiet beside me and I could not tell if this was a positive or negative thing. Gee'ma leapt up from her crouch with sudden feline grace and ran at a speed I would have otherwise assumed she was unable, toward the Tree of Souls.

I tried to master the emotions swirling inside me as I risked casting a glance at both Mo'at and Neytiri. Neytiri seemed to be distracted, lost in thought and only stared at her mother as if looking for guidance. Mo'at was intensively chanting over Tsu'tey's broken body. Both remained silent otherwise and as I was not able to follow much of the earlier conversation, I was pretty much left in the dark.

"What's going on?" I asked while drawing a deep breath. "How is he doing?"

"He is not well Jake." Neytiri mumbled from her place beside me. "His body is very weak, wounded and hungry. But we cannot heal his wounds because of the metals inside of him and he cannot take food in his condition."

"Err... Okay. So, what's the plan then?" I asked hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"We will pray for him and assist him as much as possible during his passing to Eywa." Neytiri answered stoically.

"Um. What?" I asked, hoping I was mistaken. "You're just going to let him die?"

"It is beyond our power to do anything more for him now Jake," Neytiri responded.

I looked at her with compassion and I could see the pain in her eyes. This did not spurn jealousy inside of me, but rather I was aghast with the knowledge that they were resigned to do nothing in order to help save the life of this man. While I could not blame Neytiri, as she was following cues from her mother, I looked upon the face of Mo'at with fire in my eyes and discord in my heart.

"Mo'at, you can't just give up on him," I told her in broken Na'vi.

Mo'at's chanting abruptly ceased, she grunted in apparent frustration and looked up at me, her facial features were alive and challenged me to look away, to resign to her decision, thereby admitting that her method of action was the best option available. I did not look away and my gaze did not waver. I would not be deterred this time, or ever again when giving my opinion, I am Omaticaya now and forever more.

"You dare to question the will of Eywa?" Mo'at asked me in English.

I removed my hand from Neytiri's shoulder, and gestured at Tsu'tey's body. Hoping to make Mo'at see him as I did. Gunshot wounds and plasma burns aplenty. He was beaten, broken and bleeding, but still alive. He could be saved.

"Like hell, you know better than that Mo'at, Eywa saved my life." I responded. "But this has nothing to do with Eywa. If it wasn't for the goddamned RDA, then Tsu'tey would still be kicking ass and taking names, not laying here near death."

"What is it you presume to do Jakesully, how do you wish to save him?" Mo'at asked me.


	10. Eden One

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

* * *

**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** PG

* * *

**Eden One **

.:Data Stream Open:.

.:Transmission Data Status: Highly Encrypted and Compressed. Limited To Text Only. :.

.:Transmission Origin: Alpha Centauri Star System - Transmission Mode: Civilian Sub-light Channel. :.

.:Transmission Origin Continued: Signal Originates From Pandora – Seventh Moon Orbiting Planet Polyphemus. :.

.:Personal Log: Sully, Jake T. :.

.:Classification: Na'vi/Human Hybrid. :.

.:August 27th, 2154 - Terran Calendar. :.

Crap... Why am I still writing this?... Does anyone care? I don't even know if any of this will really make a difference. Neither does Spellman, or Patel. We don't even know if these transmissions will reach any of their intended audience. How can we be sure? Seriously? Does it matter? I don't have all the answers sometimes. Things are such a mess right now and writing this entry is the only thing that really makes sense, in a way it is therapeutic and is helping me to organize my thoughts into a more fathomable creature then they are now.

When I press the transmit button, this message will be wirelessly uploaded onto Spellman's makeshift mainframe and from there it will be compressed, encrypted, packaged with other transmissions and beamed into the darkness of space. The data packet will travel at sub-light speeds until it reaches the first transmission buoy and is then launched to the next. Via the method we are using to send these logs, the entire process will take about three months to reach the intended Terran outposts. From there, it is our hope that they will be made available to all those who wish to view them through the pirated news feeds, mass media coverage, or even word-of-mouth reporting.

The truth is, we won't even know if this endeavor will be successful, will garner interest, or will be snuffed out by the RDA. So, in short, writing these logs could be an exercise in futility. It should bother me, the uncertainty should gnaw at me with ravenous teeth, but I couldn't care less at moment. As I write this, a life hangs in the balance and while we make know the outcome of Tsu'tey's battle before the coming sunrise, by the time this reaches Earth, he may be long dead.

Damn... For those of you that are interested, you can view some of the video logs I made as part of the Avatar Program, which will go into greater detail regarding the relationship that has developed between Tsu'tey and I. Alternatively, for those of you who can't be bothered to do the research, let me sum it up for you in a few words.

When I first met Tsu'tey I thought he was a smug and pompous jerk. Plain and simple. We fought. We argued. We exchanged blows and he even tried to kill me. Regardless of all of that, he still does not deserve to die, the bravery he displayed while trying to save his people was great. It made me respect him as a man and as a warrior. Whatever our differences are, we came to a tenuous understanding of each other, we both wanted to see the Na'vi free of suffering and oppression and while that dream has been realized for the moment, doesn't he deserve the same chance that I've been given to see it through to the end?

I haven't figured many things yet. I'm not sure what part I am going to play in the rebirth of the Omaticaya. I'm not sure if I'll ever let Neytiri read these logs. I'm not sure if I can count on Tsu'tey being alive to see the sunrise again, furthermore I'm not even sure if I can call him my friend. The only thing that I can think of now, is the inescapable truth that we must all face one day, death spares nobody. Those that are left behind must try to cope with their loss and continue living.

We will continue living.

.:Transmission Ends:.

Honestly, I was not prepared for such a direct question, but I should have been. The Na'vi do not beat around the bush, there is no posturing or politics, there is only the truth in life. Trying to gather my thoughts, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. Neytiri moaned softly beside me, perhaps troubled by the conflict between her mother and I.

I was literally grasping at straws, trying to think of a method by which Tsu'tey could be saved that was also with the means of the Na'vi, but as Mo'at had already determined prior to my brash interruption, it was impossible. Tsu'tey's only chance for survival was micro-surgery to remove the bullets and shrapnel within his body, then incubation in a Avatar Amino Tank while his body healed itself.

His chances for recovery would still be grim, however they were almost nil as it now stood. So, even with the worst odds possible, at least Human medical intervention would give him a fighting chance. The problem was getting Mo'at to agree to the intervention of the Sky People. While some Humans were allowed to stay on with the Omaticaya, they were still looked upon with wary amber eyes, trust had yet to be earned, or built between us. However, if Dr. Patel was successful in treating Tsu'tey, then it could be a stepping stone on the road to peace.

"The Sky People may have the ability to save his life if we act quickly," I told Mo'at.

"You hope that they can save them with their science?" Neytiri asked, glancing at me with a look of doubt and confusion.

Gee'ma had returned from her errand while I was distracted, obviously I had not been paying enough attention to my surroundings and did not sense her approach, but she made her presence known with her sharp tongue and opinionated response to my statement.

"You seek their help after the horrors they have begot?" She asked me in a more common Na'vi Dialect than Mo'at had previously used, knowing that I would understand her words. "Are you also blind to the Nantang which lie in the grass waiting to strike?"

Her words were full of spite and distrust for the Humans who had laid waste to her home, her people and the jungle around us. I couldn't honestly blame her, but at the same token I could not sit by helplessly as Tsu'tey died.

I unfurled my tail from Neytiri's and stood to face Gee'ma. In her hands she had bundled Mo'at's prayer robes and she grasped them tightly, perhaps the woven material served to strengthen her resolve or she found some other comfort in it, but as my eyes locked with hers I could see that whatever resolve she had cultivated was beginning to crumble under my gaze.

"Are you willing to let him die, simply because you curse the sight of his benefactors?" I asked her in my haphazard and somewhat bastardized understanding of the common Na'vi dialect. "What right do you have to decide his fate?"

"What right do you have to intervene in our traditions?" Gee'ma countered.

Arrogance and malice dripped from her retort, but I could sense that she was baiting me, trying to draw me into a conflict to prove a point, that Humans could not be trusted. She knew I used to be one of them, maybe she still considers me a Dreamwalker, whatever the case my lineage did not effect my reasoning.

"The men and women who can save his life weren't responsible for the death and destruction that befell us before, they are healers and explorers," I told her calmly. "Not bloodthirsty killers."

"Enough!" Neytiri said, standing suddenly beside me. "That is enough. We will not continue to squabble over this man as if he is the carcass of a Talioang, we have lost enough for this season, we will not lose anything, or anyone else!"

My interactions with Neytiri were always unique, always surprising and never dull, even from the first moment I met her she had amazed me with her raw beauty and compassion. There is a depth and complexity to her which I could hardly fathom before and am only now starting to fully comprehend.

Only moments ago she seemed distraught and childlike in her fear for Tsu'tey and within a heartbeat she was once again a fierce warrior determined to protect all things important to her. She moved with passionate intent, stepping around Tsu'tey's gurney and her mother to stand before Gee'ma.

"I do not wish to dishonor you Elder, but we will save him, no matter the method," Neytiri informed her. I gazed at Neytiri and Gee'ma, who were standing face-to-face and also looked to Mo'at who was still crouched to the right of the pair.

It was Mo'at I focused on for a moment, mostly because she had remained silent for most of the exchange and I wondered what she was thinking. The Elder Tsahik looked at her daughter with a glint in her sienna eyes, perhaps envisioning the leader Neytiri would become, when her time began to wane like the setting sun.

I needed no other cue or encouragement as their exchange had been enough. I reached into the pouch which was tied at my waist, fumbling through the contents and finally coming upon what I was looking for, I pulled the communicator free of the pouch and brought the cumbersome device to my neck, taking a moment to attach the earpiece and microphone properly. Once completed, I flicked the device on and flinched through a brief hiss of static.

I had turned away from the women and the body of Tsu'tey, to focus on the metal body of the research bunker that had been flown in after the RDA had been exiled and Hell's Gate abandoned. Its silver body and glass panes twinkled in the early morning sunlight, and looked completely alien among the abundance of plant life, which ranged in colors from green to violet and a plethora in between.

I tapped the alert button on the communicator before I began my transmission, with the full intention of rousing some lazy bones from their slumber.

"This is Jake Sully calling Eden One." I said while depressing the transmit button, "come back Eden One. We've got a situation here."

Behind me, I could hear movement and I turned in time to witness a group of Na'vi men moving Tsu'tey's gurney further into the camp, Mo'at and Gee'ma led the way, while Neytiri retrieved her bow and came to stand with me.

"Callandra Logan at Eden One; to Jake Sully," a cheery British voice responded to my call. "What's the problem there mate, got a hankering for bangers and mash? All we've got is the MRE, but you're welcome to it."

Cally Logan is a recent addition to Eden One, having been one of the researchers assigned by Dr. Grace Augustine to a biological survey near the home of the Tipani Clan. Though she was not at Hell's Gate during the RDA's siege against the Na'vi, she was recalled during the exile and had elected to stay along with Spellman and the others. The twinkling silver research bunker had been flown in from the Hallelujah Mountain site it had previously occupied and was christened Eden One in honor and reverence for the paradise it occupied.

Cally had a sensible, funny and spirited personality. She was smart, resourceful, determined and brave. Her quip regarding the Meal Ready to Eat would have usually earned a chuckle from me, however the idea of dehydrated mashed potatoes and freakishly preserved sausage held no humor for me given the current circumstances.

"I'm afraid it is a little more serious than that," I told her with a sigh. "Tell Norm and Max to get their asses outta bed, into some Exopacks and out to the Omaticaya camp double-time. We've got a wounded Na'vi warrior in critical condition. Tell them to bring a trauma kit, field stabilization gurney and a prayer."

"Roger Dodger and quick as a whistle," Cally replied cheeriness fading from her voice.

I hoped that it would be quick enough.

She ended the transmission and I turned off the communicator after her chatter died. I looked up at the sky. The still rising sun was breathtaking and I wished that Neytiri and I could watch it together, the orange star shined brightly in the early morning hours and gave the planet Polyphemus and its swirling cloudscape a beautiful violet tinge. Though I had grown accustomed to seeing it each morning, its beauty still thrilled me.

"Jake? My Jake? Are you lost among the heavens?" Neytiri asked me softly.

I turned to face her and contorted my lips into a wry smile for her benefit. She had slung her bow across her back once more, allowing her to move more freely than before. I walked towards her and she approached me simultaneously, as we drew closer to each other the world faded away. I do not exactly remember how we came together, or when we started holding each other, but as we embraced I let everything else slip away for the barest of moments.

Neytiri's eyes were beautiful enigmatic orbs, they seemed to change with each heartbeat and as I looked into them I could see everything she hid away from the world. Beneath the tough exterior of a warrior and the trappings of a princess, she was a woman. Her eyes spoke to me without words, told me that she was fragile, loyal and loving. Even if she did not express the depths of her emotions to me then, I could see it in her eyes.


	11. On The Brink

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

* * *

**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** T

* * *

**On The Brink**

.:Data Stream Open:.

.:Transmission Data Status: Highly Encrypted and Compressed. Limited To Text Only. :.

.:Transmission Origin: Alpha Centauri Star System - Transmission Mode: Civilian Sub-light Channel. :.

.:Transmission Origin Continued: Signal Originates From Pandora – Seventh Moon Orbiting Planet Polyphemus. :.

.:Personal Log: Sully, Jake T. :.

.:Classification: Na'vi/Human Hybrid. :.

.:August 27th, 2154 - Terran Calendar. :.

Is there morality in war? Hardly, it is nothing more than a brutal display of strength by two factions with opposing ideals. Sometimes war is inevitable, or even necessary if you are trying to stop a madman from committing genocide or conquering a defenseless people. But, whatever the situation, there is no morality in it. No right or wrong, just varying shades of gray.

Whenever a society is subjected to new ideal or new ways of life, the outcome is not always a pleasant one. There can be hostility or negative emotion displayed in opposition to the fundamental lesson that is trying to be instilled. There are many instances of this in Terran history, but the one that stands out in my mind the most these days is the African-American Civil Rights movement that took place almost 200 years ago and began to gain massive support and attention when a courageous woman named Rosa Parks decided that she had just as much of a right to rest her tired feet as the white man asking her to give up her seat and refused to do so.

Her actions caused a chain of events that lead to freedom of equality for an entire race of people and changed the world. In her own right, she was a warrior who fought in a war. Though the battles fought and the hardships faced may not be equal in gun smoke as many other wars that had taken place during Terran history, they were won with sweat, tears and blood, just like any other.

She had a dream of equality for her people. A dream of freedom. And I share that same dream for my Na'vi brothers and sisters.

.:Transmission Ends:.

The orange flames of the fire danced to an ominous crackling beat, a rhythm brought to life by the wood and tinder that fueled the blaze.

Watching the light of the fire as it cast shadows over Tsu'tey's still prone body hypnotized me and in the space of time it took me to become entranced, another ragged gasp escaped his lungs and dragged me back to the reality of the situation.

I was doing nothing while the man was dying. Mo'at and Gee'ma were both huddled over him, praying for his body, his soul and his life energy. All I could do was crouch near the fire, observe their ritual and wait. Even Neytiri was busy elsewhere and I was thankful for that, I didn't want her to be too near to Tsu'tey in the event that he passed suddenly.

My quarrel with Gee'ma earlier still left a bitter taste in my mouth, perhaps her anger and hatred toward the Humans was a sign of things to come, but in my eyes it was a malignant infection, which could have long-term repercussions if not properly eradicated.

Allowing Gee'ma's anger and hatred to go unchecked could spawn a similar outlook to form within the mind of the Na'vi who love and support her. If that were allowed to happen, who knows how it might alter the cultural future of the Omaticaya. Generations from now, the peaceful Blue Flute Clan could become a tribe of savage warriors all thanks to one horrific conflict and the bitter heart of an old woman.

"Damned if that'll happen," I muttered to myself.

Neytiri would know how to handle the situation with more tact and because of that I planned on seeking her guidance instead of trying to muddle my own way through it. Gee'ma had to be made to see that there were good Sky People, not just bloodthirsty ones.

It had been nearly twenty minutes since I had contacted Eden One. The passage of time was agonizingly apparent to me as the prayers of the elders became more frantic with each passing moment. I was forced to wonder what the hell was taking them so long.

However I was not left to my own devices for long, as the heavy clomp of military issue combat boots signaled the approach of people behind me. I winced at the noise they were making as they trudged closer to my position, with each step that brought them closer, I found myself trying harder to flatten my ears against my skull to drown out the ruckus they were making.

An epiphany occurred to me then and I felt my face heat from the embarrassment as I wondered if my thoughts of seconds ago mirrored those of Neytiri upon our first meeting several months prior. The thought was errant and out of place given the circumstances and I pushed it away to focus on the matter at hand.

Dr. Norman Spellman stood beside me now, I knew this because I could smell the particular brand of deodorant he favored, a luxury that would soon be denied him once his supply ran out. I turned my head to look at the man and had to take a moment to overcome the strange sense of vertigo I felt at being eye level with him, even though I was still crouched and at almost half my normal height.

"Jesus," he muttered in lieu of a greeting as his green eyes were focused on the man who lay near the fire.

"I think he is too far away to hear your prayers, Eywa owns these parts," I joked with him, in an attempt to lighten the mood. People who are frantic and nervous tend to make mistakes and there was no room for error here.

"Spellman, quit gawking and start recording," a tinny voice called from my right.

Spellman was startled by the impromptu orders and the brown-haired man quickly unslung his backpack and fumbled with the zippers, fingers frantically working to remove the needed equipment. His breathing came in short quick gasps that were muffled by the re-breather he was wearing.

I turned my head to the right and my eyes caught sight of a harried looking Indian with shaggy hair and a full beard that was partially hidden by his respiratory mask. Looking at his foggy eyes, distorted behind the plastic face mask and eyeglass lenses, it was obvious to me that Dr. Maxwell Patel was not a morning person.

But the man that drew my attention the longest was the one who never stopped moving. He strode by me driven with purpose, seemingly ignoring his surroundings. He was not tall in stature, standing merely 5'6" in height, but his movement was deft and fluid, it was what caused me to take notice.

Dr. Samson Cho was an actual sawbones, not a biologist or science geek. His medical knowledge stemmed from experience at M.A.S.H. Units stationed in the middle of some of the harshest conflicts that Earth had seen in the last twenty years. Though, you wouldn't be able to tell by looking at him, his almond skin was free of wrinkles and his hair was still a dark onyx color, the stress had certainly not gotten to him. His brown eyes were clear and focused, and as he kneeled beside Tsu'tey's body, he beckoned to the other two men within his party to also step forward.

Without needing to be asked, Mo'at moved away from Tsu'tey, taking up a stationary position a few feet from the foot of the gurney, still praying the entire time. Gee'ma followed suit, though it was painfully obvious that she only did so out of respect for Mo'at, not a willingness to let the men work.

"What happened to him?" Samson asked after removing Tsu'tey's blanket, "he's got...one...three...six gunshot wounds, lacerations and contusions, they don't look fresh either."

"They're from the fight with the RDA," I informed him. "He's been on his own in the jungle since then."

Samson raised an eyebrow at this information and sighed as Norm finally stepped forward with a humming handheld device. Moving quickly, Dr. Cho opened the medical kit which lay on the ground beside him, then donned a pair of gloves.

"Max... Start recording... We need to do this as professionally as possible," Samson said while attaching several electrodes to Tsu'tey's body.

Norm's handheld unit beeped to life with purpose as it began to receive wireless telemetry from the electrodes.

"Record is on Dr. Cho," Max said, speaking for the first time with a croak. I glanced at him, he was holding a small black holo-cam and filming the scene.

"This is Dr. Samson Cho, on site at the temporary Na'vi settlement adjacent to the Tree of Souls. Dr. Max Patel and Dr. Norman Spellman are also present," Samson recited this information as his hands were occupied with a myriad of other tasks, poking and probing wounds to determine which were superficial and which more serious, applying temporary compresses and attaching more electrodes.

"Patient is Na'vi male, approximately 25 Terran years of age. Suffering from multiple gunshot wounds, blood loss, lacerations, contusions, apparent dehydration and malnourishment is indicated by the lack of bioluminescent skin pigment, in addition to this, wounds are plagued by early onset infection, though partially crusted over. Patient is unconscious." Samson recited, his voice tinny and metallic due to the re-breather. "Norm, is bio-imaging up yet?"

"Yeah, but the resolution is grainy, must be our proximity to the tree," Spellman replied.

"Well, do the best you can to give me vitals and get a good scan on record before we transport him." Samson ordered.

"Internal body temperature is 105.96 degrees Fahrenheit, pulse is 114 over 40, but it is erratic, damn forget the record, his pulse is dropping too quickly, we gotta move," Spellman yelled with a tremor of panic in his voice. "He could have a cardiac episode if we don't get him stabilized soon."

Samson's eyes looked grim beneath the mask of his re-breather, he considered Spellman for a moment, then turned to look at Patel. "Pause recording and give me the gurney."

In its collapsed state the stabilization gurney measured nearly two feet long, but is lightweight and portable. It had straps which allowed it to be carried in place of a backpack or field kit. This particular model was designed to accommodate Avatars that might've been injured during field assignment. Its frame is constructed from a lightweight titanium-lithium alloy which also acts as a battery to power the device. Once a patient is properly placed on the gurney and the wireless bio-imaging sensors sync with the computer built into the gurney, the gurney will activate a stabilization field around the patient, effectively placing the patient in temporary stasis.

At the point that stasis is achieved it is safe to transport the patient to a more hospitable medical facility for further diagnosis and treatment.

Max turned off the holo-cam and hurriedly slipped it into the breast pocket of the maroon polo shirt he was wearing. After that, he groaned and fumbled with the gurney strapped to his back for several seconds before he was able to unhook the device from the harness.

Now free of the harness, the device gleamed dully in the morning sun. Max held it in both hands, almost as if he were unsure of how to proceed further. I had to give the man some credit, as it was quite apparent that he was out of his element, and trying to cope with new challenges that didn't involve research and scientific discovery.

But at the same time, I was getting frustrated because he lacked the sense of urgency that the situation called for. Bearing this in mind, I stood fully erect and hurried over to Max, removing the gurney from his hands and beginning to unfold it as quickly as possible.

"Just grab the cam and keep recording," I instructed him absentmindedly as I finished unfolding the device to its proper length.

"Uh, sure, you got it Jake," Max replied.

With the device unfolded, I moved towards Tsu'tey's still form, and placed the gurney next to him after Samson moved away. At this point, there was a quiet hush between everyone that lasted the space of a few seconds as their eyes turned towards me.

Knowing that they were watching me did little to ease my nerves, or temper my resolve, in fact it left me feeling a little flustered.

"We need to take him back to Eden One," Samson informed me, quickly moving away from Tsu'tey's body. He spent an indecisive couple of seconds trying to best decide how to handle the transfer of Tsu'tey to the stasis gurney before I spoke up.

"From what Norm says, we don't really have the time to be delicate, so let me at 'em," I mumbled, and stepped up to the head of Tsu'tey's still form. I slid my hands under his shoulders and lifted him slowly, supporting more of his torso as I lifted and then shifted his weight onto the stasis gurney.

Maybe Mo'at took her cue from the tension in the air, or the cracking rhythm of the flames just near my left, or the terse grunt I gave while lifting, I can only guess. But she moved forward very suddenly, and took it upon herself to remove the leafy blanket which covered the fallen warrior, lifting and transferring his lower half, her movements just seconds behind my own.

A chorus of relieved sighs escaped the lips of my human companions once Tsu'tey was safely resting on the stasis gurney. While I wanted to relax, I knew that his chances were still quite slim and that this was by no means a time to celebrate.

Before she stepped back to rejoin the still praying Gee'ma in worship, Mo'at took a moment to cover him once more with the leafy blanket they had provided him, doing so with a somewhat motherly affection.

After Mo'at and I stepped back, Dr. Cho moved forward to take charge of the situation once more. I crouched behind the doctor to watch him work, careful to stay out of his way, as he connected the stasis wires from the gurney to Tsu'tey. He was intent and his hands moved at a frantic pace.

Though he was silhouetted by the flames of the fire and rays of sunlight, his brow was free of perspiration or worry. It was as if he could see the future and had already resigned himself to the outcome of events.

"Sam, life signs are becoming increasingly unstable, his heart rate is becoming more erratic..." I glanced at Spellman and his fevered expression was evident as he studied the readouts from his handheld device. "I think moving him also caused some internal bleeding, but it is hard to tell with all this damn interference."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, I'm working as fast as I can to get him prepped for transport." Samson replied. "Max, get Eden One on the line, tell them to prep for incoming wounded. I need them scrubbed and ready to work, tell them to prep the spare amino tank as well. Even after we remove the shrapnel, he is going to need prolonged stasis and micro-surgery by the nanites to repair the damage to his system."

Though the terminology was completely alien to Mo'at, she had fallen quiet during the latest verbal exchange. I guess she could sense the tension of the situation, through the changes in tone that had taken place. I sympathized with her, as I had experienced the same sense of helplessness when Dr. Grace Augustine was wounded and we were completely unable to care for her.

"Alright, I am bringing the stasis gurney on-line, once his vitals have stabilized, we'll work on transporting him." Samson said as he pulled out a handheld device from the flak jacket he wore. His fingers moved in a flurry of speed and beeps followed them in an eerie symphony of technological music. After a few seconds, a faint humming sound could be heard emanating from the stasis gurney and in the space of a few heartbeats a lime green light enveloped Tsu'tey's body.

I heard Mo'at's startled gasp and Gee'ma's rapid-fire protests a mere moment after the stasis field had initialized.

"What will happen now Jakesully?" Mo'at asked me. I glanced over at her and took in her stern but expectant expression.

I could her Max rambling behind me, communicating the situation to Eden One, as well as Samson and Norm conversing about Tsu'tey's condition, pleased that his vital signs were stabilizing. But as I looked at Mo'at, the rest of the world faded away, all I could see was the uncertainty in her eyes. All I could hear was the crackling fire beside me and Tsu'tey's labored breathing.

"Will he live?" Mo'at asked.

"I'm not sure," I replied.


	12. The Oath

**ALERT! IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR THE NEWEST CHAPTER, GO TO 'A Warrior's Tale' - 11/29/10**

* * *

**Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles**

**A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick**

_**Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron**_

* * *

**Archive:** With Permission Only

**Chapter Rating:** T

* * *

**The Oath**

.:Data Stream Open:.

.:Transmission Data Status: Highly Encrypted and Compressed. Limited To Text Only. :.

.:Transmission Origin: Alpha Centauri Star System - Transmission Mode: Civilian Sub-light Channel. :.

.:Transmission Origin Continued: Signal Originates From Pandora – Seventh Moon Orbiting Planet Polyphemus. :.

.:Personal Log: Cho, Samson L. :.

.:Classification: Human. :.

.:August 27th, 2154 - Terran Calendar. :.

After numerous tours of duty in some of the most godforsaken war zones known to man, I had reached the zenith of my career. As an emergency surgeon there were no more challenges to face, or skills left to learn. I surmise it is due to the fact that the need for battlefield medicine has declined sharply in the past few years.

With each new conflict, Humans have come to rely on science and technology more and more to wage their battles. Infantry, foot soldiers, mercenaries and ground assaults have become primitive and non-essential, especially after the use of biological weapons became less taboo with the invention of DNA specific pathogens.

A foreign dictator stirring up trouble? No problem, just obtain a sample of his DNA and a designer virus can be created, one that will lie dormant when introduced to the general population, but become vile and deadly once contact has been established with the target DNA strands. Though scientists have not been able to compensate for loss of other immediate family members, such as brothers, sisters, parents and first generation offspring, they are deemed acceptable casualties in the end. After all, if you can cut off the head of the snake, the body dies soon after.

The result? A conflict that could've cost thousands of lives now only costs a mere handful of them. Simple. No fuss. No muss. No shrapnel to remove, or good old boys to patch up and send back to the front lines.

I had come to terms with the idea that there was no longer much of a need for the skills I possessed and was ready to fade into an early retirement, but then the RDA had come knocking with the offer of a job that would put my skills to the test once more.

Pandora. The new frontier of exploration for mankind. Though it had been discovered several years prior, Humanity was still in the early stages of taming the savage land that the Na'vi called home.

I had never considered space travel. Growing up, my parents had pushed me into medicine. Running my hands along the large intestine of the digestive track while searching for damaged tissue is about as much experience as I had ever clocked in the field of exploration.

But the RDA had talked me into signing up in the long run. Though, I suppose they were damn bewildered after I explained my reasons for agreeing to the mission. It wasn't for fame, or money, or because of their gung-ho speech about doing it "for the betterment of mankind," it was because I needed a purpose. I needed something to keep myself busy with.

I knew that I wouldn't be content with retirement. What did it leave me to look forward to? Golf? College Alumni reunions? Senior discounts at a myriad of retailers? Maybe I am exaggerating a bit, but I am sure you get the idea. Much to my chagrin, I never married or had children. The job always came first.

So when the RDA offered me a challenging new environment in which to further test my skills, I signed up. My friends and colleagues expressed their concerns, one was even convinced that I'd gone "bugshit crazy". Nevertheless, I carried on with the physical and mental conditioning required to make the trip.

As our launch date grew closer, I found myself becoming more and more anxious to leave. I suppose a part of me was afraid of becoming inept or complacent, that my medical knowledge would wither and die like some malignancy-infested muscle tissue. Though, I suppose I can also hearken my restlessness to the fact that I was craving adventure.

Growing up I was a bit of a nerd, mostly seen by my peers as being out of touch with my generation. I suppose this stemmed from the fact that I had spent my childhood and early adolescence with my nose in one book or another, seeking the next set of thrills and chills that the narrative of a great story could provide. While kids around me were babbling about the newest holo games, I was searching for Moby Dick with Captain Ahab, or conquering kingdoms with Genghis Khan, you name it, I read it.

But Pandora; this was a chance for real adventure. I was ready to escape gray skies and towering metal spires of Earth, for the lush greenery and untamed wilderness of this satellite some called the new Eden.

However, soon after I stepped off the transport, fresh from my stint as Rip Van Winkle aboard the cyro-ship ISV Venture Star, I came to realize that something more sinister was afoot. My compatriots were not there to explore this lush paradise, or get to know the native people that called it home. They were there to loot and plunder the natural resources of the land.

Though the general populace of Earth as well as Terran Offworlders Inhabiting colonies on the Moon and Mars knew that mining was being done to obtain the coveted mineral known as Unobtainum, they were given sugar-coated fancy versions of the truth that neglected to mention the fact that we were killing the natives and forcibly displacing them from their homes.

Sure, they knew of some issues that the RDA faced, but only the ones that had been leaked through clandestine channels. Even then the news of events had been whittled down by sensors to such an extent that they appeared to be less exciting then the homicide coverage on the evening news. The RDA has money, which can silence even the loudest media storm.

Though I was displeased with some of the guerrilla tactics employed by the RDA, I kept my head down and did the job, for the time being at least. As my stay on Pandora continued, I noticed that the relations between the natives and the RDA was becoming more strained. The RDA brass had tried to employ the old "carrot on a stick" method, attempting to appeal to the assumed sensibilities of the Na'vi by offering them goods and medicine in return for a peaceful relocation.

Those efforts had failed and the RDA was left with a mess on their hands as the "Sky People" were no longer seen by the Na'vi as peaceful benefactors, but rather aggressive invaders who wished to take control of their ancestral lands.

Most of this information has been relayed in other transmissions by my fellow colleagues here at Eden One, so I won't bore you with a play-by-play of events. But, I will say that I was seriously troubled when I discovered the plans for the destruction of the Omaticaya hometree and later the planned siege on the Tree of Souls, by Colonel Quaritch, it was around the same time that I was approached by Dr. Patel and was informed that there was a group that shared my views, that if I was willing, we might be able to make a difference for the Na'vi.

I had come to Pandora with the intention of healing my people, but after awhile, I had come to realize that healing relations with the Na'vi was just as important. It is because of this that I find myself facing my current set of challenges...

.:Transmission Ends:.

"We've got him on the table," a voice called from behind me, "BP and pulse are stable for the moment, but we can't be certain that will last."

I was still trying to take stock of everything. When we had gotten the call about the situation at the Omaticaya Camp, we did not know the full extent of the wounds to the patient and as a result of that, our reaction time had been severely lax. It was something that I knew I would anguish over later, but I did not have the luxury to spend time on regrets at this current juncture.

"Has he been sedated?" I asked.

"Affirmative," came the reply.

I was nervous and stalling a little, while washing my hands. I had never engaged in any sort of surgical procedure of such difficulty on a Na'vi patient before. I had studied the rudimentary biological functions of Avatar's prior to my assignment at the Hell's Gate facility, however those sessions were akin to dissecting a frog in science class. Informative and interesting, but not very practical if applied to real world emergency situations.

Regardless of the circumstances, I would not allow myself to fail. I had taken an oath and made a vow to help heal the suffering of others. Though I may not have much experience with Na'vi biology, it is up to me to save the life of this man, and I will not fail him.

My hands had been rinsed, lathered, scrubbed, rinsed, lathered and rinsed once more. There was no more cleanliness to be obtained by continuing the process. I removed my hands and stepped away from the sink, the motion sensor attached to the facet detected my departure and deactivated the flow of water.

I stepped into our makeshift operating room, and passed my hands under the bio-scanners, which worked to further eradicate any germs which might've still sought refuge from oblivion on my hands, and then applied a thin layer of a polymer compound designed to envelope my hand in a sterile glove, thereby protecting my patient and I further from germs, disease and infection.

Tsu'tey, the newest leader of the Omaticaya clan lay still on the operating table. His torso had been scrubbed, and his extremities cleaned, prior to this he had been covered in dried blood, dirt, war paint and other forms of excrement. I gazed at him behind the protection of my re-breather and hoped that I was doing the right thing.

I had two helpers assisting me, I'd say they were playing nurse, but I think it might offend them. Their voices were tinny behind the masks of their re-breathers and I tried to focus on the information they were feeding me as I prepared myself mentally. The room was saturated with Pandoran atmosphere, in order to ensure that our patient did not suffocate while we tried to save his life. Because of this the room was rather humid and uncomfortable.

"I don't think I'll need both of you here the entire time," I said while stepping up to the operating table. "I just need someone to relay vitals and hand me my instruments, the transport over on the gurney helped to stabilize him a bit, but we've still got to work fast, so after I remove the shrapnel, we're not even going to worry about stitching him up, we'll apply bio-sealant to suspend any bleeding and get him to the amino tank, the nanites can repair the rest of the damage.

Callandra Logan stepped up beside me, obviously an indication that she had elected to stay for the duration of the procedure.

"I'll hang tight with you here Sam," she told me. "Bright Eyes is going to go and check to make sure Max and Norm are getting the tank ready."

I grunted my reply and didn't even bother to cast a glance at the one she had called Bright Eyes, having no idea who it had even been in the first place. I shudder to admit it to people, but I am quite horrible at remembering names and faces.

Between her and I was a tray of gleaming stainless steel instruments, they sat there silently waiting for their wielder to hurt or heal at his or her fancy. I searched with my right foot, looking for the pedal that would activate the overhead projectors. Those projectors would display real-time biometric data holograpically onto the patient, showing me viable pathways to each piece of shrapnel, as well as suggested incision points for the quickest extraction of those alien objects.

The holo-projectors blinked to life and displayed the information needed for the first incision, his vital signs were displayed as steady. I took a deep breath and prepared for my first set of incisions.

"Cally, can you hand me the third scalpel on the left side of the tray?" I asked her while extending my right hand, into which she deposited the tool. I tried not to think too much about the difficulty of the task and decided to dive right into the thick of it, as time was of the essence. Ten minutes had elapsed since we had placed Tsu'tey on the operating table.

I made my incision and winced inwardly a bit at the sight of blood pouring from the fresh wound. His heartbeat was steady, and the flow of blood would not yet sway my hand, I glanced away from the purple substance toward the retractors on the equipment tray and Cally quickly handed them to me.

I used the retractors to pull apart the first few layers of flesh and realized that as serious as the situation was, I still needed conversation if I were to keep my cool.

"Cally, have you ever heard of the Hippocratic Oath?" I asked her.

"We spoke of it here an' there in college," she said with a chuckle. "But I think the Hippocratic Oath pertaining to scientists is a bit different then the one pertaining to you Doc."

"I would think so," I said while continuing to cut away at fatty tissue, trying to get to two pieces of shrapnel lodged in the muscular tissue of the breastbone. "I'm going to recite it as I work, think of it as a bit of a mantra of mine, helps me focus."

"Oh? Let's hear it," she said, humor evident in her voice.

"Can you give me some suction?" I asked her directing my gaze to a pocket of blood, which she vacuumed up. I mused for a moment at the cycle, we suck the blood and fluids out while we preform the operation, but the fluids are also replenished intravenously at the same time. "Alright. Just don't call me bonkers."

"No more than the rest of us," she deadpanned.

"I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant: I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk, and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow."

There it was, I saw it gleaming dully in the light. The first piece of shrapnel. I exchanged my scalpel for a set of forceps and pulled the bugger free of the chest cavity, dropping it into a small metal dish which also rested on the instrument tray. There was another piece of shrapnel in the same area, as identified by the biometric data. I need only cut through a few more layers of tissue.

"I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures that are required, avoiding those twin traps of over-treatment and therapeutic nihilism. I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug." I said, continuing my mantra while going after the next stray object.

"Warmth... Sympathy?" Cally asked, "I know a doctor or two back home who would take care to remember those bits."

"I will not be ashamed to say 'I know not,' nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient's recovery." In truth, it was that line of the Oath that weighed on my mind now, as I wished for someone better qualified to save this man. "I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I must not play at God."

I had found the second piece of shrapnel and slowly removed the warped metal hunk from the otherwise healthy flesh. Three more pieces remained and it was those pieces that worried me, as they were near a major artery. The happy little bits of metal, that were quick to lead to death if removed improperly, were located just above the Left Subclavian.

"Mmmhmm... Now comes the tricky part, we'll need to put on our game faces." I stated. "Cally, how are the fluids?"

"We've got eighty-three percent remaining, but I think there are a few more liters available, if we need it." She replied, while squinting at a monitor which was currently to my back.

"We might just have to make due with what we've already got prepped, we may need those fluids later for a different patient, I don't know how keen the Na'vi are about the idea of donating blood."

I was automatically given a can of bio-sealant after removing my tools and retractors from the incision cavity that I had created. I spent a moment applying the viscous gel-based fluid to the area of the wound, as it dried it would artificially cauterize the tissue, until such time that the nanites could begin their duties from within the amino tank.

I was getting anxious, my heartbeat quickened and I could feel my mouth starting to get dry. I tried to tell myself that it was just a mild case of the jitters, that this was a normal patient, just like any other, but I soon realized that if I were to use those time tested excuses, I would only be fooling myself.

This man was indeed a cultural icon to an entire tribe of people, who were depending on him for his strength and leadership, after what could only be described as an act of genocide. The outcome of this surgical procedure would have lasting ramifications, as relations with the Na'vi were at a crossroads. If I failed in my efforts to save this life, it might further deepen the rift between our two peoples, irrevocably rendering future peaceful relations nil. However, if I were successful, then perhaps the Na'vi would come to realize that the entirety of the human race was not composed of devils and madmen.

This is the challenge I signed up for, the challenge that I sought to test the mettle of my skills, but now that it was upon me, I felt more daunted by it, than by anything else I had faced previously. It was in this moment that I realized the irony of life, and let a small chuckle escape my lips.

"What's so funny?" Cally asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Should I tell her that I was contemplating the acts of divine irony that the universe had thrust upon me? Surely not, as this was neither the time, nor the place, it would only serve to distract her from the matters at hand.

"Nothing," I told her, trying to flash a boyish smile. "I'm just happy that the operation is progressing better than I had imagined."

Though I tried to put on the bravest front I could manage, the truth of the matter was that, as I was making my second incision and placing the retractors for optimal working efficiency, I was as nervous as a surgeon starting his first solo operation.

"Watch his BP Cally, if it starts to spike I need to know immediately."

I spoke softly and continued working without waiting for her reply, cutting away at healthy muscle, as it was the easiest available entry point. The remaining metal fragments were nestled together in a somewhat symmetrical manner, and luckily had not impacted any bone matter. If the bullet had met skeleton, things would've been much worse, as the bullet would've caused damage at the impact point, and then shattered.

As I was making my final cut, deep enough so that I would be able to remove the final shrapnel fragments, the intercom chimed.

"Guys, I've got the amino tank prepped, as it stands now we've got enough fluid for initial saturation, but we'll have to make a trip to Hell's Gate to get replacement supplies, especially if he is going to be in there for move then a few days," Dr. Max Patel stated, dispensing with any formalities.

"It seems likely, though you might want to have a look at his bio-scans Max, you've got a little more insight into the finer points of Na'vi physiology than I do." I told him.

"Don't sell yourself short Sam, I may be able to gauge the data, but there is no way I could be brave enough to get up to my elbows in a bunch of chest wounds," Max said with good humor, while breaking the link.

We were bathed in silence again, though it did not seem as ominous as before.

"His BP is starting to wobble a bit, but it still appears to be within acceptable levels," Cally chimed. "Fluid reserves are at seventy-one percent."

She stepped closer to me, and peered over my shoulder, for a moment I let vanity overtake me, and wondered if she was admiring my work. Soon after the idea began to form within my mind, I squashed it, much like an encroaching insect. I needed to focus goddamn it, and such thoughts would not help me with doing so.

I asked Cally for the forceps and began to hum, as I set about the task of removing the remaining bullet fragments.

"Are you kidding me?" Norm asked in disbelief. "I was scared shitless out there, I thought we would lose Tsu'tey long before we even got him stabilized on the gurney.

"Still, you handled everything better than I did," Max replied with a grimace. "My parents wanted me to go into medicine, but I just can't handle the sight of blood, I would completely freeze up when I was younger, even now I still get kinda queasy seeing any blood that doesn't belong to me."

The two men were located within the makeshift lab that was set up within Eden One, it wasn't as big as the lab at Hell's Gate, but they had procured all of the same equipment. Though it was somewhat cramped and more rudimentary, it was still very functional, as there were not as many personnel to contend with for lab space. OLED displays had been set up in a semi-circular fashion, and were directly linked to the computer mainframe that had been liberated from Hell's Gate. Holo-displays and the other more complicated instruments would have to wait until they had established a more permanent camp.

"You're too hard on yourself man," Norm said while giving his bespectacled friend a pat on the back.

"Easy for you to say," Max said while pulling up Tsu'tey's bio-scans on one of the touchscreens. "You're not the one who couldn't even operate a damned holo-cam."

Norm sighed, as he realized he was not going to win this battle, he had learned a long time ago that in any friendship diplomacy was highly important, and even while trying to console his friend, he knew better than to press the subject.

Norm was looking forward to some time in his bunk, he needed the peace that sleep would afford, as he had dealt with enough stress to last him a year and he yearned for some time to relax.

"Crap, this isn't good at all." Max muttered.

Norm spared a glance at his friend, Dr. Patel's coffee-colored skin was bathed in a rainbow of neon light, which emanated from the computer screen, that had absorbed the bulk of his attention. Risking a glance at the screen, Norm had come to surmise that Max was reviewing Tsu'tey's bio-scans, and appeared to be greatly concerned with some anomaly that he had detected.

"What's the matter?" Norm asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Tsu'tey may have unforeseen complications from some of the injuries he suffered," Max answered in a grave timbre.

"Huh?" Norm murmured. "I don't get it, didn't you just say that you spoke to Dr. Cho, and he told you that the surgery was going well?"

"Yeah, bu-"

"I mean, I know that he isn't as comfortable as dealing with Pandoran Physiology as Grace was," Norm continued, "but whatever he can't fix, I'm sure the nanites can handle."

"They weren't designed to deal with the finer points of things." Max said, while enlarging one of the images on the screen, "and this is totally out of their league."

Bringing up a cranial shot, he pointed to a section at the back of the skull. It was only a rough gesture, but it was enough to point Norm on the right track. Tsu'tey's neural queue had been largely severed at the top of the skull. Only a few fibers remained intact. Realizing this, Norm felt a knot begin to form in his stomach, as he mind began to process this new information.

"Holy shit, how did we miss this?" Norm asked. His voice cracked midway through the question, it only happened when he was nervous or upset, nevertheless it always bothered him.

Looking around like a man who had become lost, Norm took in sight of the lab, as if for the first time. There were still heaps of boxes that needed to be unpacked, the conference table that they had set up as a row of workstations was still largely unorganized, they had yet to dedicate room for a monitor to stream radar telemetry and track radio signals, and the area was missing personal touches, family photos and other kitsch, but right now, all of that seemed unimportant.

He groped for a stool that was to his left, it rolled to him on well-oiled wheels. Not willing to look at his friend, he sat with a tired sigh, and put his head in his hands. The amino tank was behind him, but he couldn't bear to look at it, even with all of the preparations and effort, he felt like it was all for nothing.

A Na'vi who couldn't make tsaheylu would rather commit suicide than continue living.


End file.
